Sticky Leaves
by SmollyWobbles
Summary: Darry has lost his parents. Diana has lost her boyfriend. Maybe, in the end, they'll both find something they can hold on to.
1. Chapter 1

The church is packed that Thursday morning. Sunlight streams in through the stained glass windows. There are so many people gathered into the small building that, even though it is a cold January morning, I'm beginning to sweat. I peek behind me. People are still filing in, even though every pew is filled and it is standing room only.

I shouldn't be surprised: Darrel and Laura Curtis were wonderful people, beloved by all who knew them.

Already irritated at being squished into the pew, Paul Holden pokes me in the side. "Stop squirming, Diana," he hisses. "It's already uncomfortable as shit in here without you making it worse."

I can't think of anything clever enough to say, so I settle for glaring at him. He makes a face at me in return, clearly unimpressed. Paul and I broke up two weeks ago after going steady for almost four years. The only reason we're even speaking today is because our mutual friend just lost his parents and we both felt like we should be here.

"You should have let me wear my jersey," Paul whines. "Curtis would have appreciated it."

"You can't wear a football jersey to a funeral," I snap. People turn to look at me, and I blush. Lowering my voice, I say, "Really, Paul. You know better than that."

Paul gives me a crooked smile, the one that still makes my heart skip a beat even though I hate to admit it. "It would have made him smile though."

I fall silent. "Maybe," I admit. "D'you think… d'you think he'll be ok?"

"He has to be," Paul says. "We'll never win another game without him."

My eyes find Darrel Curtis, son of the deceased Darrel Sr., at the front of the church. He is standing up, talking to the pastor, looking as careful and controlled as he always does. If it weren't for the two crying boys that he turns around and comforts as the pastor walks away, he could almost be back in class or on the football field. I see his face falter for only a second as his youngest brother pulls away from him, but then quick as anything it's gone.

"Those poor boys," I murmur.

Paul gives me an odd look, but before he can say anything the service starts and a hush falls over the church. The only thing we can hear, other than the pastor, are the sobs coming from the boys who are now orphans.

* * *

"Darrel, man, I am so sorry," Paul says, slapping Darrel on the back after the service. "We're having a party tomorrow night it you wanna come, might get your mind off of things."

Darrel is quiet. "Maybe. Thanks for coming," he says. He turns to me. "Diana. Thank you for coming."

I bite my lip, unsure of what to say. "I'm sorry," I offer up lamely, slipping my hand into his. "If you need anything…" I trail off, hating myself for being so awkward.

He takes it well though. "Thank you. Are you going to the party tomorrow night?"

"I haven't decided yet," I say with a shrug. It's a party for the football crowd, and since I'm no longer dating a football player I think I might be out of place. And if Paul and his new girlfriend are going to be there I'd rather not be. "Are your brothers going to be ok?"

They've disappeared, leaving Darrel alone to deal with the crowd of family and friends who want to offer condolences. After having spent the entire service listening to their barely stifled sobs, I don't blame them for wanting to get away.

"I don't know," he says quietly. He looks behind him, as if he can see where his brothers are, and frowns. "I hope so."

I drop my voice a little and ask, "are _you_ going to be ok?"

His face sort of falls, and he looks younger and a little lost. "I don't know that either."

I give his hand a squeeze. "I am so, so sorry."

He smiles wryly, excusing himself to go talk to other guests. Paul throws an arm around my shoulders. "Lunch?"

* * *

Paul and I end up at a diner on his side of town. He orders a sandwich and a beer.

"It's one o'clock!" I protest, frowning at him.

"That's why I'm getting beer and not liquor," Paul says.

I roll my eyes. "I'll have the same as him, only instead of beer I'd like coffee, please."

The waitress makes a note on her pad and walks away. Paul stares at her walking away for only a minute before his eyes snap up to meet mine and he says, "So."

"So."

"That was pretty shitty today, wasn't it?" Paul says. "Poor Curtis."

I nod. "Yeah. I can't imagine what I'd do if something happened to my parents."

"Yeah," Paul sighs, looking oddly introspective. "That must be rough."

"I wonder what he'll do about his brothers."

"I imagine the state will take him." He sees me wince and he looks surprised. "Come on, it might be for the best. You know which side of town they live on."

We're interrupted by the waitress bringing our food. She sets down a sandwich in front of us, and hands Paul his beer. My coffee is set in front of me. The steam warms my face and I smile, reaching for the cream and sugar.

"You could have just ordered milk, you know," Paul jokes.

I smile at him. "Maybe I should start."

"Maybe we should get back together."

My head snaps up. "What?"

He repeated himself, adding, "You know I'm not serious about Miriam."

"Seemed pretty serious when I walked in on the two of you at Jenny's party two weeks ago."

"It was just sex," Paul says with a laugh. "Don't be like that. You know you're the only one for me."

"Don't be ridiculous," I sneer. I take a sip of coffee. It's sweet and milky, just the way I like it. "We're not getting back together."

"It's your fault you know." Paul sounds serious and bitter and I look up at him. "You've changed since you came to college. You're not the same person."

It's true that I'm not the same person. It might even be my fault that he cheated on me, I don't know. I take another sip of coffee, ignoring the painful contractions in my heart, and say with more calm than I feel, "I'm sorry you feel that way."

He takes a deep breath, exhaling loudly. "I don't want to do this today. D'you think Curtis will come tomorrow night?"

"Dunno."

"That dude is gonna get so much tail."

"Jesus, Paul!" I set my coffee down a bit too hard, making the liquid slosh over the top.

"It's true." Paul grins. "Damn lucky if you ask me. Don't think I didn't notice you holding on to his hand and fluttering your eyelashes at him."

"I did no such thing!" I sputter.

"'Oh, Darrel, I'm sooo sorry about your parents,'" Paul says in a high pitched voice that sounds nothing like me. "'Please let me comfort you with my-'" I throw a sugar packet at him, and he breaks off laughing. "I'm just teasing you, Diana. I'm not joking about the sex he's going to get though. Man, I'd bump off my dad tomorrow if I thought I could get away with it."

"Don't let Miriam hear you say that." I say, snidely reminding him of his new girlfriend's existence. "It doesn't bode well if you've only been dating her for a couple weeks and you're already looking around."

"No," he informs me, heartlessly committed to accuracy. "You only found out a couple weeks ago. Really it's been more like… six months maybe?"

I tut. "Maybe I will go offer some comfort to Darrel."

"That's fine." Paul doesn't seem at all phased by the thought of me with his best friend. "Be prepared to stand in line."

"Everything okay here?" The waitress comes back to check on us. "How're the sandwiches?"

"They're wonderful!" I say, before Paul can open his mouth to say anything dirty or ask for her number or God knows what else. "Is it possible to get some apple pie? And more coffee? Put it all on his tab, by the way." I smile at Paul. "He's paying."


	2. Chapter 2

"You're goin' out tonight?" My little brother's eyes are still red from crying and I feel like a monster for wanting to leave.

But I need to get out of here. I'm going crazy. Too much has happened in the past week. I keep staring at the door, hoping my parents will walk in. Any minute now, I tell myself, before I remember that I'm twenty and too old for this pretend shit. Best leave that to Ponyboy.

"It's just for an hour or two." I try to keep my voice level, because Ponyboy is only thirteen and I don't want to scare him, but I want to start yelling. "I'll be back before you know it."

"We'll be fine, won't we Pony?" Soda asks, and I give him a grateful look when Ponyboy isn't looking.

"I just don't understand how he can leave," I hear Pony whine as Soda pulls him away from the bathroom and back out to watch God-knows-what on tv.

It hurts me, but not enough to stay.

I'm debating on cologne, the same cologne Dad used to wear, when Soda comes back to the bathroom."You'll be ok, won't you Dar?"

No cologne, I decide. I shove the bottle back into the medicine cabinet.

"I'll be fine." It comes out more gruffly than I intend. I know they're worried about me in a car so soon after mom and dad. Hell, I'm worried. But one more night… I just need one more night to feel like the guy I was a week ago. Just one more night.

xx

The party is full of people who want to offer condolences. I try to be polite, but I don't want to hear it. I just don't. I look around for Paul Holden or someone else I know, but the only person I see from the team is Frank Wallis, Tulsa University's new quarterback. The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. He is the last person I want to see, even if he doesn't know it yet.

"Hey stranger," a voice says from behind me. "You made it."

I turn around and see Diana Hayes standing there, all long legs and long hair. She looks like she has had one too many, but she is at least someone I know and don't mind talking to. I force myself to smile. "Hey"

"I was _this close_ to leaving, but I'm glad I didn't," she enthuses. "It's good to see you out and about, Darrel."

Darrel. The smile drops from my face. "Darry. Call me Darry, _please._ "

She cocks her head to the side but doesn't ask any questions. "Alright, Darry. It's good to see you out and about."

"Yeah." I wipe my forehead wishing I'd thought to grab a beer or something on my way inside. Or wishing I hadn't bothered to show up at all. I wanted one more night to be Darrel Curtis, Tulsa University's hotshot quarterback, but I've already begun to think of myself as 'other'.

I don't belong here with these people. Not anymore.

And just as I'm feeling sorry for myself, goddam Frank Wallis comes strutting up. He puts an arm around Diana's waist and gives me a wink. I realize I was wrong- he already knows I'm out and he's in.

"Diana, have you heard the good news?"

Diana pushes his arm off of her and scoots closer to me. "What are you talking about, Frank?"

"I'm the new quarterback. Curtis here is out."

Diana looks at me, astonished. I'm trying to keep my face blank, but whatever she sees there confirms it for her. "That's a pity," she says coolly, tossing her long hair behind her shoulder. "We were getting so used to winning."

"You're a real bitch, Diana," Frank snaps. "No wonder Holden left you."

"I'll give you three seconds to go away, Frank," I warn him, crossing my arms. It's only fair to give him a warning, but really I want him to mouth off some more so I have an excuse to pound him into the ground. It would feel so good to do something with all this anger.

But Frank slinks away like the coward he is, and I uncross my arms. I'm clenching my fists, wondering if I can sink them into someone else, when I remember Diana is still next to me.

"You ok?" I ask.

She nods, but she won't look at me.

I swear under my breath and run my hands through my hair. "You want to get out of here?" I ask.

She looks up, smiling at me. "More than anything."

xx

We drive out to a nearby park, even though it is supposed to be closed after sunset. The police have other things to do in this town other than patrol playgrounds in this upscale neighborhood. I know it will be quiet this time of night.

"You know," Diana drawls as we pull into a parking spot. "I usually don't come here with guys until _after_ they buy me dinner."

I feel my face burning. "Glory, Diana. That isn't why I brought you here! I just thought it would be somewhere quiet-"

"It's ok," she says with a little laugh. "I know you don't have designs on my virtue."

"Designs on your virtue?" I echo. "You've gotta stop readin' those romance novels, Di. They're rottin' your brain."

She laughs again, but then her smile falls and she reaches a hand out for me. I prepare myself for the dreaded 'how are you doing?' that everyone asks me, but she surprises me by asking, "How are your brothers?"

I shrug. "Devastated."

"What's going to happen to them?"

I exhale. "I'm going to take care of them. It's what my parents would have wanted. Do you want to get out and walk around?"

"Alright," she agrees. And we hop out of my truck and make a stroll around the fountain, the swings, and down to the artificial lake. Diana grabs my arm to steady herself, and I feel like an idiot. Of course she is just doing this to humor me. She isn't dressed at all for being outside.

"We can get back in the car if you'd like," I offer.

"No, it's fine." She kicks off her heels. "At least there isn't any snow on the ground."

We stand there staring out at the lake for a few minutes. She is being real quiet tonight, which is nice. Diana can talk a lot. I don't mind that usually, but her silence saves me the trouble of pretending to listen.

"I'm dropping out." I say it before I can really think about it.

"I'm sorry." Her voice is soft and she reaches out to take my hand. "So you can take care of your brothers?"

I grit my teeth. It's the right thing to do, I know it, but it still hurts. I've worked _so hard_ to get to this point. To leave it all behind is damned painful. "Yeah," I manage to say. Dammit, I can't cry. I settle for picking up a rock and throwing it as hard as I can into the lake.

"I was so worried." She sounds a bit uncertain, like she is afraid of how I'll respond to what she has to say. "I've heard so much about those boys' homes from my dad. You wouldn't want your brothers there."

Her father is some sort of lawyer for the state, I remember. I guess he might know about those sorts of things. She is right, I don't want my brothers there. It might not bother Sodapop that much, but it would destroy Ponyboy. Pony is only thirteen, and he is so smart they're moving him up a year next year. He has a real shot at making it out of our neighborhood, a real chance to better himself. If he went to one of those homes… it would ruin him.

The wind blows cold off the lake, and I feel Diana shiver beside me. She has a coat on, but her dress is short and I figure she must be freezing. I could take her back to the car now, but instead I put an arm around her and draw her close.

"Darry," she begins, again with that timid little voice that sounds so unfamiliar coming from her. "I _am_ sorry about your parents. They were always so nice to me. I remember after I quit cheerleading I would sit with them and watch your games. Your dad especially was so proud of you-"

I'm not ready to talk about my parents. Not with her, not with _anyone._ I want her to stop talking. I _need_ her to stop talking.

And so I kiss her.

I only have a minute to panic and wonder what the hell I'm doing before I lose myself in her. She is soft, and warm, and for a minute everything stops hurting.

It feels good, even if it doesn't feel _right_.

That's enough for now. 


	3. Chapter 3

I wake up on Saturday morning with a pounding headache and the taste of vodka in my mouth. I told myself I wasn't going to get drunk last night, but that went out the door when I walked into that stupid party and saw Paul with his arm around stupid Miriam Becksworth. Not to mention Frank Wallis's stupid comments and Darrel Curtis… I groan loudly and pull my covers over my head as I remember what exactly happened with Darrel Curtis.

"Diana, you can't stay in bed all day!" My mother's rap on my door is loud, too loud for this too sunny morning. "Get up, I made breakfast!"

"I'm not hungry, I'd rather stay here and die," I moan.

" _Now_ , Diana." I recognize her 'I've had enough of this' tone, and throw the sheets off my body, rolling onto the floor with a loud thump.

"When you manage to drag yourself to the kitchen, I've laid out two aspirin for you," my mother says.

That gets me moving. I hurry to the kitchen where I wash down two pills with some orange juice. It's fresh squeezed.

"Is Daddy eating with us?" I ask, noticing that in addition to the fresh squeezed orange juice, she has also laid out eggs, hash browns, and what looks like an entire pigs worth of bacon.

My mother, already washing dishes at the sink, makes a face. "You don't think I did all this for you?"

"Since you usually make me live off of bread crusts and water, no." I laugh. "Where is Daddy?"

"He has a meeting this morning."

"Golfing?"

She sighs. "Yes. Now eat the fruits of my labors, you ungrateful child."

I sit down and make myself a plate. The aspirin is beginning to kick in, renderings the food much more appealing. I take a small bite of bacon, testing it.

 _Divine_.

"How late were you out last night?"

I swallow. "Eleven. I was home by curfew."

"Mmhmm. Your father isn't here. Real answer, please?"

"Two."

She sighs. "Your father is going to notice these late nights sooner than you'd like, Diana. I've been covering for you because I have faith in your ability to make good decisions and I know you've been hurting lately, but I can't do this forever. I hope you at least stuck to beer?"

I nod, doing my best to look innocent, as if I can't believe she'd ever ask me that question. "Of course."

She opens her mouth to reply, but the harsh ringing of the phone interrupts her. "Answer it," she hisses, covering the bacon with a towel. "It's probably your grandmother."

Well that just makes me want to hop up right then and there. I roll my eyes, but do as she asks. Slowly.

"Hello?"

"Why are you answering the phone like that?" My grandmother asks me immediately.

"All I said was 'hello'!"

"It's your tone, Diana."

"Would you like me to hang up and you can try again?"

She makes an exasperated sound, an unfortunate effect I have on many people. "Let me talk to your father."

"Daddy isn't here right now, he's… in the shower," I fill in, reading my mother's frantic whispers. "Getting ready for Temple. We go every Saturday."

"Is your mother telling you to lie to me?" My grandmother demands to know. "I know that woman doesn't like me-"

"No, grandma, these lies are coming to you from the pit of my own cold, black heart."

She makes a tutting sound. "Diana Joy, I do not appreciate this attitude. Now where is your father?"

"He has an early morning business meeting that he couldn't miss."

"Mmm, at which course?"

"I don't know what you mean, Grandma. Would you like to speak to Mom? She's right here."

My mother shakes her head furiously, looking as panicked as she possibly could. On the phone line my grandmother is protesting vehemently.

"I'll tell Daddy you called," I offer. "I love you." Without waiting for a reply, I hang up the phone and rejoin my mother at the table.

"What did she say about me?" My mother asks. "She thinks it's my fault we don't go to Temple, doesn't she? Did she blame me for Jon being out golfing?"

"She didn't say anything bad about you, Mom. She was really hurt you didn't want to talk to her." I uncover the bacon and take another slice. I can feel my headache returning.

My mother shakes her head. "How on Earth did I ever get a child like you?"

I'm not sure that's a compliment, so I dig into my breakfast once more. Mom flutters around, cleaning and tidying up as she goes. Finally when the kitchen is completely spotless, she sinks back down into a chair at the table and looks me over with a sigh. Sometimes I wonder what she thinks of when she looks at me.

My mom is pretty and petite, truly beautiful with her wide blue eyes and soft honey blonde hair. Unfortunately, I take after my father. I'm much too tall for a girl and my dark hair is almost black. I hold up a strand, looking at it with a critical eye.

Miriam Beckworth has blonde hair.

"I think I should dye my hair blonde," I say to my mother.

She laughs. "Don't be ridiculous. There is nothing wrong with your hair."

I drop it the strand of hair and sigh deeply. "You're ruining my life."

"I've heard that before."

"Since Dad is gone d'you think we could go shopping." I try not to sound too pleading, like I'm desperate to hang out with my mother on a Saturday, but it comes out a little too eagerly and I know by my mother's pitying look what her answer will be before she says it.

"Oh darling, I wish I could, but I'm having lunch with the girls."

I set my fork down, no longer hungry. "Alright then. I guess I'll just work on some homework today. I have a lot of reading to do." I pause. "Will Paul's mom be there?"

My mom cocks her head to the side. "She may be. Why?"

"Ask her why her son is such an a-"

" _Diana!"_

"-absolutely awful person!" I finish, standing abruptly. The chair makes a terrible scraping noise on the linoleum floor. "I should probably get started on my homework. There's a lot of it."

I make my way back to my room, but instead of pulling out one of my many textbooks, I instead pull out a sketchbook and start to draw.

I must fall asleep at some point, because I wake with a start to what sounds suspiciously like rocks being thrown against my bedroom window.

It is. Paul is standing in my mother's garden, throwing pebbles at my window.

"It's three in the afternoon, Paul," I whine, opening the window just a crack. "The neighbors are going to see you. Why can't you just use the front door like a _normal_ person?"

"But babe, this has so much history for us!" He grins. "Are you going to let me in?"

"I'll meet you at the door," is what I start to say, but I get about as far as the first syllable before Paul is sliding the window open and heaving himself through it. He lands with a thud on my bedroom floor.

"Hot date tonight?" He asks, eyeing me up and down. "I knew you stole that shirt."

I look down. I'm still wearing my pajamas, including the oversized Tulsa University shirt that I did indeed steal from Paul. "Do you want me to give it back to you or should I have it laundered and sent to Miriam?"

"Oh I think you should give it back to me. _Right now_." He leers at me, and I pretend to aim a kick at him, but really I love it.

"What are you doing here, Paul?" I distract myself by asking, flopping on my bed and closing my sketchbook before he can get a glimpse of it.

"I heard a very interesting rumor about you," he says vaguely, getting to his feet. He crosses my small bedroom in two steps and sits down on my bed. My bed creaks under his weight. "Do you want to hear it?"

I feel really cold all of a sudden. I have a feeling I know what this rumor is. But I play dumb and shake my head. "I can't imagine what I could have done."

He rests his hand on my leg. I look at it, but don't tell him to move it. "I heard you and Curtis left the party together last night. Is it true?"

"You drove all the way over here to ask me that?"

"Is it true?"

"Ye-es," I answer slowly. "But nothing happened."

"I didn't think it had, Diana! Good God, you and Curtis? I know you flirt with him, but he'd never go for you." I must look as offended as I feel, because Paul rushes to add, "it's nothing personal. You just aren't his type."

"And what _is_ his type?" I ask, curious.

Paul shrugs. "Dunno. Not you though." He puts his hand back on my legs, higher this time. "I just wanted to know how he is. I heard he was dropping out."

"He is," I say quietly. "He told me so himself."

"God damnit. Willis is such a chump. There goes our winning streak."

This makes me laugh. "That's what I told him."

"I'll bet he loved that."

"Oh yeah, he called me a bitch. But he was gloating something awful and Darry was _clearly_ upset. He is such an awful person."

"Yeah, I think I'll punch him the next time I see him." Paul says it so casually, like he often just walks up to people and punches them in the face. Although maybe he does. He and all those Soc boys used to run wild sometimes.

We fall silent for a few minutes. Paul's fingers start tracing designs on the inner part of my thigh. I know he shouldn't be touching me like this, but it feels good. Really good. I close my eyes.

"It's gonna be a clear night tonight," Paul says. "Why don't you come with me? I'll buy you some supper, and then we can drive out of the city and go stargazing. How does that sound?"

Stargazing might sound like an excuse to drive out into the country and make out, but Paul honestly loves astronomy. That's what we used to do all the time: Drive out of Tulsa until you could see the sky real good, and Paul would point out all the different constellations. Ok, sometime we'd make out, but there was a lot of actual stargazing too. Secretly, Paul dreams of being an astronaut despite his declared business major and plans to follow his father into the family business. I wonder if I'm still the only one who knows or if he has shared this with Miriam too.

It's the thought of Miriam that prompts me, ultimately, to shake my head and say, "no, Paul. I really don't think that's such a good idea."

"Diana, come on. I made an honest mistake." His blue eyes seem so sincere, and I turn my head so I don't have to look at him. "Don't you ever think how nice it would be to be _us_ again? You can go back to being a cheerleader-"

"Why do I have to be a cheerleader?"

"Because I like cheerleaders." Paul sounds awfully confused. "Didn't you like being a cheerleader?"

I frown, not answering. Because the truth is, I do miss being his girlfriend. And I do miss being a cheerleader. It was nice, having a defined place and status. And having a readymade group of girls to hang out with… I miss that most of all. Even when I hated the girls on my squad we still pretended we liked each other.

It has been harder than I ever imagined to actually make friends.

But I gave up being a cheerleader because I was ready to become someone different. And I gave up Paul because he betrayed my trust in the grossest possible way.

I can't forget either of those things, even if I'm feeling lonely and a little bit lost right now.

So I swallow the lump in my throat and say, "maybe you'd better go."

He goes. He doesn't say anything at all, just climbs out the same way he climbs in. As he leaves I notice the sun is beginning to set. It always sets early this time of year. Another Saturday night with no plans, I think morosely, but then I stop.

There is someone I can call.

xx

She answers the phone by barking "hello", and I think that if my grandmother could hear _her_ she'd never think I had an attitude again.

"Joanie!" I say jovially. "It's Diana. Diana Hayes. I was wondering if you had any plans tonight."

Joanie is silent, and for a minute I feel a thrill of fear that she'll reject me. We don't know each other too well, but we've had a couple of art classes together and one time we met up at an art gallery to have a look around, so we're kind of sort of friends.

"Diana. How are you?"

"I'm ok. Just sittin' at home bored to death."

Another long pause, before she says in a far friendlier tone, "I'm just getting ready for a party, d'you want to come?"

xx

She picks me up about an hour later. I don't recognize the house we pull up to, but I don't expect to. Joanie travels with a wilder crowd than I ever have.

She saunters inside, and I trail behind her, feeling like the gawky, nerdy kid I never was in high school.

 _Get a grip, Diana_ , I order myself. I used to be popular. I used to be confident. How hard can it be to recapture just a little bit of that?

I hold my head up and follow her inside the door.

It's an immediate assault on the senses. From the loud Hank Williams music playing on the record player to the smell of what I am pretty sure is grass, it's enough to make me wish I had taken Paul up in his offer. Even if I were flat on my back in his daddy's caddy right about now, that at least is a familiar sort of assault.

But I take a deep breath and try to adjust my eyes to the dim light.

"I've been seein' this cowboy," Joanie almost purrs. "He said I might could find him here."

"Oh," I say faintly. Every male here seems to be wearing a cowboy hat. Truthfully they all look alike to me, their rough features blending into one another, but I try to be open minded. Joanie likes a cowboy with bad taste in parties. Alright.

She struts (there really isn't another word for it) away and then come back with two cups. She shoves one at me. "Here. You look nervous."

"I've never been here before." I take a swig of the liquid in the cup. Big mistake. It's mostly liquor.

Joanie shrugs, taking a sip out of her own cup. "It isn't so bad when you get used to it."

"Oh, you come here a lot then?"

She shrugs. "Sometimes."

I nod, taking that in. My head is already spinning from the drink. Joanie smiles suddenly, and it's a sharp feral smile. I'm not surprised when a man in a cowboy hat joins us.

"Well aren't you ladies a sight for sore eyes," he drawls. He gives Joanie a quick peck on the lips, but his eyes travel up and down my body as he does so.

Joanie's hazel eyes narrow. "This is Diana. She goes to school with me."

He smiles slowly at me. I can tell he is used to charming women with very little effort. He really isn't that good looking, but you wouldn't know it from the way he acts. His eyes are a funny sort of golden color, and it makes me think of lions on the Savannah and I smile into my drink at the fanciful thought.

The cowboy looks over at the crowd of people and out of the knot of people steps a man holding a beer bottle. He joins us.

"Hey." He has the same drawl as the cowboy, although he acts less charming and more outright predatory.

For the first time I feel distinctly uncomfortable. I'm in an unfamiliar place. I don't know anyone. My only way home is Joanie, who shows no inclination to leave. I'm starting to feel real nervous when across the crowd I spot a more familiar face.

Our eyes meet, and though it takes a second I recognize the face of Darrel Curtis' little brother. He recognizes me too, and I guess he knows me as his brother's friend because he looks a little nervous. I guess he thinks I might tell Darry where he is. Even I know that Darrel Curtis wouldn't like his brother being here, especially now that he has custody of him.

But Sodapop Curtis slinks back into the crowd, and I focus instead on Joanie and her cowboy, trying to show this random guy that I have no interest in him and he'd best try his luck elsewhere. But Joanie shows no interest in me. Instead, she flirts and giggles and eventually pulls her man down the hallway and what I'm guessing is a bedroom.

I look with dismay at the stranger I've been left with. He looks bored, but shows no sign of leaving, even when I say, "you don't have to keep me company,"

"Ain't no hassle," he says with a shrug. "So what are you doin' all by your lonesome tonight? I'm sure a pretty little thing like you has boys just dyin' to take her out on a Saturday night."

 _Little?_ I frown. I don't even have to tilt my head up to look this guy in the eye. "I'm just keeping Joanie company," I say coolly.

He smirks. "Looks like she don't need you anymore." And he reaches for me.

I back away. "Don't."

He laughs. "Come one, sweetheart, don't be like that."

The easy way he addresses me, like he somehow owns me even though we just met, is maddening. I smack his hand away, and before he can do or say anything else, I weave through the house and dart out the door. I'm determined to leave before I realize Joanie drove. I can't even walk home. I have no idea where I am.

Fantastic.

I could go back inside, but the idea makes me nauseous. Instead I lean against Joanie's car. I'll just wait.

 **A/N: I know this chapter is a bit longer than the previous two, but Diana had a lot to do. And a big thank you to anyone who has reviews/followed/favorited this story. I appreciate it more than words can say. Please leave a review and let me know how you're enjoying the story! Thank you for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

Sodapop is thirty minutes late. I try to tell myself that he just lost track of time, that he isn't lying dead in a ditch somewhere, but with every second that passes on my watch I fear the worst. At least I finally got Pony to go to sleep, telling him some lie about Soda working late.

So help me, if he comes home drunk I'll strangle him myself.

He finally shows up about fifteen minutes later. I hear the truck engine cut off, and then the slam of a door… make that two doors. Steve must be planning to stay here tonight, which is fine, but if my brother thinks that is going to get him out of a lecture he has another thing coming.

Finally he comes in, but instead of Steve trailing behind him it's goddam Diana Hayes. I get to my feet so fast I almost knock over the recliner. "What is she doing here?" I ask hotly. "Why are you late?"

I have never _once_ had a friend from high school over to my house. And if I had to choose one to see where I lived it wouldn't be Diana. She isn't a Soc by any means, but she comes from a much better neighborhood than this.

"She needs a ride home, Dar. I told her you'd give her one."

"You don't have to," Diana interjects quickly. "I can call my dad to pick me up. Or a friend."

I can feel the muscles in my head throbbing, and I give my brother a look. If he wants to rescue every stray female he comes across that's his business, but I don't see why I need to participate. But I _especially_ don't want Diana's dad coming around and seeing our house. We already have enough problems with the state.

I snatch the keys out of Soda's hands, giving him a look that I hope says I'll deal with him when I get home. He just grins at me. That's the problem with being the guardian of someone you're only four years older than: I can put the fear of God into Ponyboy with no problem, but Sodapop and I have always been more like equals. I thought Ponyboy would be my problem, but Soda ain't proving to exactly be a walk in the park.

I don't even say anything to Diana on the way out, but I hear her hurried goodbye to Soda and then her scrambling after me. I get in and am almost backing the truck out of the driveway before she opens the door and hops in.

"You didn't have to drive me, Darrel." She sounds about as angry as I feel. "I could have walked."

"Don't be ridiculous," I snap.

She doesn't say anything else. I'm trying not to speed too fast, eager as I am to put as much distance as I can between Diana and Tulsa's east side. Driving has been been hard for me to do ever since my parents died. I almost miss the soft touch of her fingers on my arm and she has to say my name a few times before I realize she is talking to me.

"I'm sorry," she says when she has my attention. "I realize you were worried about your brother. He told me he was already late. But he helped me out of a rather difficult situation. I'm sorry that I'm inconveniencing you. If you just want to drop me off at-"

"I'll take you home."

"Okay." She settles back down into silence once more.

When the houses start getting a bit nicer, I relax a bit. "So what was this 'difficult situation' Sodapop helped you out of?"

"Oh, well, it's rather embarrassing really. D'you know Joanna Carmichael?"

"Can't say I do."

"We have some classes together. Art classes, mostly. I went to a party with her. She introduced me to this guy, and we didn't exactly hit it off. So I went outside to wait for Joanie, and the guy followed me. Your brother happened to be out there and he was nice enough to tell the guy to leave me alone. And then Soda offered me a ride home. I didn't know he was going to make _you_ do it."

"Yeah, lucky me," I grumble. "Soda didn't hit him or anything, did he?" He didn't look like he'd been in a fight, but with Soda you never know.

"Of course not!" She sounds horrified at the thought. "He just told the guy to leave me alone and he did."

An idea is dawning on me. "What kind of place was this?"

"I don't know. It was a house. Lots of cowboy types around."

"Nothing but country playing on the radio?" I ask, and when she nods I can't help but hit the steering wheel. "Dammit, I told him to stay away from that place!"

"Yeah, it seems kind of rough," she agrees.

I snort. "Our whole damn neighborhood is 'rough', in case you didn't notice, but Buck sells pills and God knows what else. I don't want my brothers there." Especially not now, I think, but don't add.

Diana doesn't say anything, and when I sneak a glance over at her she looks kind of uncomfortable. I'm suddenly conscious of the fact that I've sworn in front of her several times tonight, and she isn't a girl from my part of town. Not that I should swear in front of any girl, that's what my dad always taught us, but a girl from my side of town is more likely to start swearing back.

"I'm sorry," I offer lamely, my ears burning. "Language and all…"

"It's okay. I'm sure my dad will have similar feelings if he finds out where exactly I've been tonight."

I glance at my watch. "It's almost one. Are you late?"

"Quite late," she says. "I'll probably be grounded for at least a week."

"Oh." I don't know what to say to that. That I wish I still had parents who cared where I was? That she should be grounded for not listening?

"Well I can't say it will matter too much. I haven't had much of a social life since Paul and I broke up."

"You've gone to two parties this week."

She laughs. "An outlier. Usually I stay in."

"What happened to that Lucy girl you used to be friends with?" I remembered her best friend mostly because Paul couldn't stand her.

"She went to some all-girl's school in Texas. Her fiance picked it out for her."

"Her fiance picked out her college?"

"You remember Lucy don't you? If you were going to marry her, wouldn't you?"

I do remember Lucy. She dated every guy on the football team, me included. So there might be more than one reason I remember Diana's best friend. Hastily I change the subject. "You didn't want to go to an all-girl's school?"

"It's a Christian college," she clarifies.

"Ok?"

"I'm _Jewish_. They don't want me there. Besides, Paul was here. I mean, at least until he wasn't." She goes quiet again.

I don't know why, but it kind of surprises me that Diana doesn't already have another boyfriend, or at least a regular date on Friday night. Not that I was checking out my best friend's girl or anything, but Diana is real attractive and she was always popular.

"We all, I mean, the guys on the team and I, we thought Paul was a real jerk to you," I offer, like it makes a difference.

She laughs. "Okay. I don't want want to talk about Paul. How are you, Darrel?"

"Darry."

"Yeah, that's what you said last night, isn't it? I forgot."

And just like that my ears are burning again. Because it was only last night I was kissing her. Is that what she is alluding to? She isn't looking at me, so I can't tell. I know it was wrong to kiss her. I _know_ that. Maybe she wants an apology? Maybe she thinks I'm into her now? I don't know what to say or do, so it is with relief that I pull into her driveway.

"Do you want me to walk you to the door?" I ask. Her porchlight is on, but the door is shut tight. I probably should walk her up, but I'm still sort of agonizing over the fact that I kissed her.

She smiles at me. "Are you that eager to get shot by my dad? I'm a big girl, I think I can make it across my own lawn."

"Okay." I'm relieved, but I still kind of feel like an asshole as she gets out of the truck and scurries across the yard.

As I pull out of the driveway I try very hard to forget everything about Diana. Now that I've dropped out (it still makes me sick to think about) I'm not likely to see her again. At least I hope not.

xx

I don't know when I'm going to stop measuring time by the death of my parents.

At first it was one day, then two, then seven. And now it has been two weeks. I have been in charge of my brothers for two weeks. I have been a college dropout for two weeks. It feels like forever.

At least I found a pretty good job roofing houses. It seems pretty straightforward, so even though it's only my second day on the job I've pretty much got the hang of it. It's just...boring.

It's not that I don't have a lot to think about up here on this roof. It's the opposite. I have a hard time keeping my mind focused on the task at hand . I find myself worrying about everything while I'm up here. Mostly about raising my brothers.

Soda will be seventeen in October. And then I'll only be responsible for him for another year. That doesn't seem so bad. But Ponyboy is only thirteen. He won't be fourteen until June. And after that I'll be responsible for him for _four years_. That is, I roughly calculate as I nail another shingle to a roof, 1,460 days give or take. There is so much I can screw up in 1,460 days. There was no question of whether I would accept guardianship of my brothers, absolutely none, but it feels so much like walking into a field of landmines without a map.

I wonder if my mom felt the same way when I was born.

Maybe once Pony is safely in college I can think about going back to school myself. I can do that. Roof houses for a few years and then go back to school. I have a bunch of classes out of the way already. But until then, I have to make sure Soda and Pony are okay. Mom and Dad would want me to. So I can't go back to school, I can't play football anymore, and I certainly can't take Diana Hayes out on Friday night.

I frown, unsure of where that last part came from. I don't plan to see Diana again at all. I have enough problems; a girl, steady or otherwise, is pretty much the last fucking thing I need.

I pause, staring down at the section of roof I'm working on. I'm so grateful when someone shouts that it's lunch time. I climb down off of the roof, happy that now I only have a few more hours to go.

xx

When I get home, I'm met with even more worries. Soda and Pony are pretty good about cleaning, usually, but with both of them in school and Soda working part time, the house gets dirty faster than we can clean it up. I never really thought about it before, but maybe we need some sort of chore list so everything gets done. There is no way I'll get to keep my brothers if this place looks like a pig sty.

Already upset, I manage to make dinner. When we sit down and eat no one speaks. It suits me just fine, honestly. We finish and immediately I head to my room where I pull out a stack of bills, some already overdue. I lay them all out on my bed, picking each one of them up and examining the total due.

We've never been rich. My dad worked hard, but he liked to drink and had a temper, so his work was never exactly steady. My mom sometimes cleaned houses and got paid under the table, but more often than not she had enough to deal with raising three boys. I don't know how they paid the bills. I don't know how to do this.

I should have asked them while they were alive. I should have asked them so many things, but I was always so self-absorbed, not caring for anything more than getting myself out of here. And now I'm stuck here, and I don't know what to do. I don't know how I'm going to make this work.

Just when I think I'm going to explode, there is a knock at my door. Without waiting for an invitation, Soda pokes his head in. "Can I come in?"

I shrug. He comes inside my room, plopping himself at the end of the bed. The bills shift. I sigh, gathering them up. They'll still be there tomorrow I guess.

"Ponyboy thinks you're mad at him."

I look up from the bills. "I'm not. I'm still mad at you for goin' to Buck's."

Soda grins, unphased. Sometimes I'm jealous of my brother and his ability to let everything roll off his back. He is like Dad in that way. I'm more like Mom, despite being Dad's practical twin. Dad always came home happy, even when he'd been laid off. I can't get that.

"Come on, if I hadn't gone I'd have left your girl there all by herself-"

"She ain't _my girl_ ," I snap, feeling my patience wearing thin. "What exactly do you want?"

"You payin' bills?"

I shrug. "Trying to."

"How bad off are we?" He asks.

"You don't need to know that." I get up and throw the bills into my desk. "You and Pony just concentrate on school and I'll figure this out."

'That's bullshit, Darry." Even though he is swearing at me, his voice is calm. "I make a lot of money at the DX part time-"

"You are not dropping out," I hiss.

"But I could-"

"You are not dropping out!" I say it louder this time, slamming the desk drawer shut. "Jesus, what would Mom say?"

"Dad always said you don't need an education to make an honest livin'"

 _Well he was wrong,_ is what I want to say, but I can't get it out. I'm not ready to start criticizing my parents yet. I sit back down on my bed, running my hand through my hair.

"Look, let me try to do this. Let me _try._ And if we still can't make ends meet, we can talk about it then."

He bounces up and gives me a hug. "Thanks, Darry! You know I ain't no good at school anyway-"

"I said we'd _talk_ about it Soda." I pull away and study his face. "I didn't say you could. You understand that right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I hear ya. Hey, listen. Try to lighten up, okay? You're really scaring Ponyboy."

And with that happy little thought, Soda bounces off. He slams the door behind him. I bury my face in my hands. I can't stand the thought of Soda dropping out. Maybe I should look into getting a second job.


	5. Chapter 5

It's three weeks after the fateful cowboy party before Joanie deigns to speak to me again.

"That was real low, runnin' out of the party like that," she says.

I look over at her. She has chosen to set her easel up next to mine, so I assume she has something to say to me. I pick up my pencil. I'm dreading this conversation. I know it was silly, begging to go to the party and then running out the second a man showed interest in me, but I can't be sorry for it. Still, I do owe her an apology I guess, so I offer one and try to sound sincere while doing it.

"Well, you're lucky that Don still likes you," she huffs.

I sketch out a rough circle, soon to be a bowl holding fruit, and ponder the varying definitions of the word luck. "Don was the guy you left me with, yes?"

"Yeah, but I wouldn't have left him with you if I'd known you were going to be so rude. What's the matter with you, anyway? You some kinda virgin or something?"

She makes it sound like a dirty word, and I can't help but laugh. "I don't think that's any of your business, Joanie."

She smirks. "That's a yes."

I roll my eyes, focusing on my sketch. She can assume what she wants, but the truth is I don't think a virgin would last very long around Paul Holden. I lasted two months, and I felt that was quite an achievement. But I don't want to talk about my sex life to Joanie.

"I was thinkin' you, me, Don, and Gene could double sometime." Her voice sounds syrupy sweet, and I wonder exactly whose idea this was, because it sure wasn't Joanie's. "How 'bout it?"

"I don't know. I don't think Don was exactly my type."

"You don't even know him!" She protests. "Come on, come out with us tonight. We're goin' to this little bar outside of town."

"I probably shouldn't. My parents are in Tahoe for the week. I promised them I wouldn't go anywhere."

Joanie's lip curls. "You always do everything your parents tell you?"

xx

Joanie picks me up at 6:30. She laughs when she sees what I'm wearing, which is actually pretty hurtful because it is one of my favorite black dresses.

"It's a nice dress," she allows. "But not really for where we're going."

She roots around in my closet until she finds something suitable. It's a dress from three years ago that I've long since gotten too tall for. But she makes me put it on anyway. And I have to admit, even though it is too short for polite company, it makes my legs look impossibly long.

And then we're off.

We drive to the outskirts of Tulsa, to a little bar I'd never willingly set foot in if it weren't for Joanie. It's a ramshackle old place that looks like it might fall over in a strong gust of wind. I hurry inside, mostly because my legs are cold, and then stop.

"What's the matter?" Joanie hisses, poking me in the back. "They're right over there."

"I see someone I know," I mutter back, hardly daring to move my lips. Darry Curtis' blue eyes have me frozen to the spot.

Joanie looks over at the table full of men who have clearly just gotten off work with interest. "Oh. Isn't that the one who used to play for our school. What's he doing here?"

I manage to tear my eyes away. "He dropped out," I say quietly.

"Oh, well let's go." She links her arm to mine and fairly drags me over to the table where our dates are waiting.

I try to smile at the guy I'm supposed to be meeting (Don, I remember belatedly) but for some reason I'm starting to feel guilty. I don't know why. Paul cheated on me and we're certainly broken up, but the way Darry looked at me… it was like I was doing something wrong.

I swallow the lump in my throat (why does his disappointment even matter, anyway?) and force myself to focus on the conversation at hand. They're talking about rodeo, something I know next to nothing about, but I try anyway.

"So uh, y'all ride a lot? Do you just follow the rodeo around?"

Mr. Golden Eyes Gene answers me with a smile. "Sometimes."

Don's hand is resting too far up on my leg, but I don't have the heart to tell him to move. Gene offers to buy us drinks. This cheers me considerably: There's nothing like a beer or two to really loosen me up and make me more comfortable. But instead of beer he comes back with four less-than-clean glasses of a clear liquor that burns my nostrils.

But what the heck, I figure, and toss it back anyway. Joanie giggles and both men are looking at me. Gene with a small smile playing about his mouth. I giggle too as warmth flows through my body and my limbs get that rubbery feeling that means the alcohol is doing its job.

"Here." Gene slides his drink towards me. "You can have mine too."

That seems like a fine idea, so I drink that one too. Don's hand moves further up my leg, but I'm beyond caring right now.

"So, Diana," Gene drawls. "Are you studyin' art like Joanie?"

"Oh, no. I haven't declared my major yet. I'd like to. I like art. I like it a lot." I flip my hair behind my back and give him a huge grin. He really does have amazing eyes.

Across the table, Joanie's eyes narrow.

I don't really care though. The alcohol has me mellowed more than I expected, and even the fact that Don's hand is so far up my dress that he may as well be touching my belly button doesn't bother me.

But then suddenly someone is pulling me upwards and out of my chair.

"What are you doing over there?" Darry asks me angrily as he pushes me towards the bar. "My entire crew is taking bets on when that guy gets you out of that dress."

That seems hilarious. "Oh, really? Well what'd you put money on?"

"Give me water," Darry orders the bartender. "Diana, what is _wrong_ with you? I've been sittin' here watching this guy grope you for the last ten minutes-"

"Well you sat there and watched Paul grope me for four years, so what's the difference now?"

"Paul _never_ treated you like that," he says angrily, but then his face softens just a bit. "Is that what this is about? Paul?"

My chin starts to wobble, but even drunk as I am I don't want to cry in front of him. He pushes the water over towards me and gives me an awkward pat on the back. The water helps.

"Excuse me, I believe you have my friend over there. We're really missin' her." It's Gene, come to drag me back to the table.

Darry draws himself up to his full height. And not only is he tall, he's also _big._ Muscular, I mean. Gene goes pale before Darry can even say anything. Darry doesn't even have to say anything. He just stares, and after about a minute Gene swallows nervously and scurries back to Joanie and Don.

"Joanie is going to absolutely kill me," I mutter. "This is the second time I've spoiled her plans."

"She'll be fine," Darry says sharply. "You really oughtta think about-"

Whatever he is about to say is lost as behind us there is the sudden noise of shouting and glass breaking. Gasping, I turn around. One of Darry's coworkers has punched Gene in the face and he now lies bleeding on the floor.

"He was gonna hit you, Curtis." He gestures to the glass bottle Gene is holding. "Piece of shit."

"Thanks, Hutch." Darry looks angry again. But not at me this time, which is refreshing. And also intriguing. Finally he glances over at me. "Hutch, I'm gonna take Diana home."

The guy called Hutch looks kind of sly, but he doesn't say anything. Probably out of respect for Darry. "Ok. I'll take care of this one."

xx

"So, uh, how long have you been working there?" I ask. As usual he is driving me home.

"About a week."

"Do you usually drop into bars and rescue drunk girls?"

"You're lucky my crew wanted to go out after work," he says hotly. His hands grip the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. "What if I hadn't been there?"

I shrug. "It really isn't your problem," I point out. "I mean, are we friends? Really, are we?"

"I don't care if we're friends or not." His voice is rising. "I'm not going to watch _any_ girl sit there and get pawed at by some man who just wants to take advantage of her."

"You've just described half of the parties we've been to, and I don't remember you being so worried about it then."

"Can't you just say 'thank you' like a normal person?" He asks. "Glory, Diana! What were you thinking goin' out with those people again after my brother rescued you just a few weeks ago? Were you even thinking at all?"

This gives me pause, because honestly I don't know what I was thinking. I knew it was a bad idea when Joanie proposed it, but I let her talk me into it. And why? Because honestly, it's nice to feel wanted after Paul cheated on me. That hurt so much. It still hurts to think about.

But of course I don't tell Darry about this revelation. Instead I say, "I was just trying to have fun."

He takes his eyes off the road to look at me incredulously. "Fun?"

"Fun. I realize you've never had any, but we normal people like to do it occasionally."

"Aren't you funny." His voice drips sarcasm. "I guess it would have been hilarious if he'd just up and ra-"

"Stop it! That wasn't going to happen! Why do you always go to the worst case scenario?" The words escape me before I realize that he does this because he is literally living the worst case scenario right now. And I don't mean me. "I'm sorry," I say, in a much softer voice. "You're right. Thank you for helping me out. I… I do appreciate it."

"You're welcome." The corners of his mouth relax ever so slightly. "And I thought we _were_ friends."

"No, you're Paul's friend. Do you even know my middle name? Or favorite color? Favorite song? Favorite food? What I want to be when I grow up? You don't know _any_ of that," I finish triumphantly. "Ergo we are not friends."

He snorts. "I don't think I know those things about my own brothers."

"You don't know your own brothers's middle names?"

"Okay," he amends. "That much I know. But favorite food? Favorite song? Do girls really care about those things?"

I roll my eyes. "Didn't you go steady with Priscilla O'Brien your junior year? Are you telling me you never knew any of those things about her?"

"No," he answers. "Maybe that's why she dumped me. Your middle name is Joy, by the way."

My eyebrows shoot up. "I'm impressed."

"I only remember it because Paul made me help him write that stupid poem-"

"Oh God." I cover my face. "I remember that. Valentine's Day, right? I never knew Diana Joy could rhyme with so many things."

He laughs too, and the mood in the truck is lightened considerably. We chatter about high school as we drive along, but then suddenly he turns serious again.

"Diana, I want you to _promise_ me you won't go out with them again. That guy… what he was doin' to you… just don't do it again."

I shrug. "I wasn't planning on it anyway. If it makes you feel better, I promise."

"Ok. Good."

"Why does it matter to you so much anyway?" Immediately after I ask I regret it. I've been very careful not to put too much thought into his kisses, he was grieving after all, but now my mind is wondering things that it probably shouldn't.

He doesn't answer for the longest time. By the time we pull into my driveway I've completely given up hope of hearing one at all, but then without looking at me he says, "you're important to me."

I chew my lip, thinking this over.

"I should probably walk you to the door tonight. It's pretty dark."

"Oh, my parents are in Tahoe. They go every year for their anniversary. I get to stay at home for a week."

He gets out and comes around to open my door. I jump down and then make my way to the front door with him trailing behind me.

"Do you want to come inside for some coffee?" I offer. "You look beat."

He hesitates. "I guess that'd be alright."

I open the door, and soon we're standing inside my living room. "I'd offer to take your coat, but you might want to leave it on. My dad has this thing about the heat, he never lets us turn it up high enough."

This elicits a small smile from him, and I leave him there to go put on the coffee. When I come back, mugs in hand, he is standing in front of a picture on our wall.

"Did you paint this?" he asks, taking a mug.

"Yeah. When I was fifteen. It's Prince Edward Island in Canada. My dad surprised my mom one year for her birthday and took us there." I realize I've answered a very simple question with a large amount of information, so I take a large sip of coffee. It's a mistake, the coffee is very hot and burns the inside of my mouth.

"You're really good," he says.

"Thank you." I leave it at that. "Did you want to call your brothers and let them know you're alright?"

Darry shakes his head. "I don't intend to stay long."

"Oh." An awkward silence takes hold as we stand there sipping our coffee. Just to ease it, I say, "you know, I don't even like coffee."

Darry snorts. "Diana, you're a mess." But he doesn't say it in a mean way, it sounds almost affectionate. "I should probably get going."

"Alright." I take his mug, setting both his and mine down on the coffee table. He follows me to the door. "I… I'm sorry if I came across as ungrateful tonight. I do appreciate it. I promise to make it my life's goal not to have to get you to drive me home anymore. Scout's honor."

He look down at me sternly, and from the look on his face he is fixing to start lecturing me again. For a split second I'm annoyed. After all, I've just apologized, haven't I? But then he leans down and brushes his lips against mine.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that," he mutters, but he doesn't have much time to say more before I kiss him back.

"Stay just a little bit longer?" I whisper in between kisses. "Please?"

He doesn't answer. He doesn't have to.

We both know he isn't leaving any time soon.


	6. Chapter 6

It's the ringing of the phone that wakes me up. I blink, confused for a second at the unfamiliar surroundings, and then I remember…

 _Oh, God._

Diana doesn't even bother to get dressed before hurrying over to the phone. She answers it, and it's her parents calling to check up on her, which makes me feel even more like shit considering what I just did to their daughter on their couch.

 _Oh, God, oh, God._

I'm trying to get dressed so fast that my shirt almost ends up on backwards, but I straighten it at the last minute. Diana is twirling the phone cord between her fingers as she watches me and _oh God, she's still naked_. I drop my eyes because I don't hate it as much as I want to.

I add pants, and then scramble to find my keys.

"Bye, Dad," I hear Diana say brightly and then the click of the phone.

"I should go." My voice is higher than I can ever remember it being. Nerves I guess.

I don't want to look at her, but I lift my eyes up and… that's enough, back to my feet they go. I need to tie my shoes anyway, something I manage on my second or third try.

Mercifully she slides her dress on, and even though it doesn't cover much it does wonders for my easily distracted mind. "It's eleven. You should probably go home." Her voice is quiet, almost without inflection.

I can't tell what she's thinking, which is strange because I can usually read Diana pretty well. She's an open book. But not just now. Maybe she regrets it too?

She has to regret it. Glory, I was _just_ making her promise not to see that fucking pervert from the bar again, and what do I do? Take advantage of her right afterwards.

Jesus _fucking_ Christ. And I'm supposed to be the one who uses my head.

"I… Diana…. I am so _sorry_."

She cocks her head to the side and examines me, expression perfectly blank. I never knew she could do that, and I wonder if somehow in the past couple of hours we've switched places because I am a _fucking mess_ right now but she looks so calm and collected.

"You don't have to be sorry," she says finally. "I wanted it too."

She did. I know that. In fairness we could even probably agree that it was her idea, but dammit I knew she was feeling emotional tonight and I did it anyway. That's not fair.

"I… I'll call you," I offer lamely although we both know I'm lying.

I don't run to my truck, but I'm moving pretty fast. And the only thing on my mind is _how did this happen_?

* * *

I roll down the window on the way home, and the cold air helps me think.

When I followed Diana inside tonight I had no intention of, well, _doing that_. At least I don't think I did.

I grit my teeth.

Where did I go wrong?

I followed her inside. She made coffee. And then… then I kissed her.

It went downhill from there.

So I guess I made the first move. But she took my clothes off. But I… I… _oh, God._

I take a deep breath of the cold February air, trying to calm my nerves. It's okay, I try to convince myself. I can forget about Diana, lose myself in work. Never go out again.

That _should_ keep me safe.

Unless Soda brings her home again.

I swear as I pull into the driveway.

"Well hey there, Darry," Soda says, sitting up on the couch. His grin is wide and I swear he knows. "You have a good night?"

"I had a drink with some guys from work," I say shortly. "That's it."

His eyebrows shoot up. "Who suggested otherwise?"

I can feel my face going red. "I'm… I'm going to bed."

Soda looks even more amused. "Darry, it's eleven thirty. Pony isn't even back yet."

Shit. He's right. I can't go to bed until I know for sure Ponyboy makes it home. Without looking at him I throw myself into the recliner and pick up the newspaper I read that morning. I'm not going to read it, but I can hide my face with it, I think.

"So how was it?" Soda asks.

"How was _what?_ " I try to sound stern, like Dad did, but Soda isn't a bit scared of me.

In fact he pulls down my paper and grins that manic shit eating grin right in my face. "You know what."

"Shut up," I growl.

"Was it Diana?"

My face gets hot again. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Soda laughs. "Nice to know my big brothers still got it."

"Shut up," I say again. But this time I'm laughing too.

* * *

I wanted to stop thinking so much about my parents at work. I wanted to stop worrying. Well now I can't stop thinking about Diana. It's not an improvement.

It ain't like I'm obsessed with her or anything, I don't think about her all day or nothing like that. But I'll be on a roof, thinking about nothing but the next nail I need to put it, and then I'll remember what she looked like naked or something, and I'll almost hit my thumb with the hammer or some stupid shit like that. And if you think that isn't god damned annoying, you're wrong.

Not for the first time I wish I had a job that required a bit more thinking. I hate having so much time to think my own thoughts.

It bothers me more than it should that I haven't called her. I think this random thought as I climb a ladder, and I almost miss the next rung. That's such an asshole thing to do. I'm no innocent, I know that, but I've never been a _jerk_ about it.

I don't know what it is about Diana that brings this out of me. Maybe it's the fact that I still think of her as Paul's girl and I was his best friend for so long. God, he'd try to kick my ass in a second if he knew what I'd done. He may have cheated on her, but he was crazy about her for the longest time, and I know he still wants her back.

It makes me think more highly of Diana that she won't put up with that, I have to admit. Even if she's going off the rails in every way I can think, she won't go back to Paul. Good for her, I guess.

The raindrops, when they start falling, catch me by surprise. My feelings war between dismay that I'll lose out on the rest of the day's pay, and relief that I can finally get away from my own thoughts. Relief wins out, and I hurry down the ladder.

* * *

The relief lasts just as long as it takes me to go home and open the door. Because instead of the silence I expect from my house at eleven o'clock in the morning, I hear instead my brother's drawl and the sound of soft female laughter.

"What the hell is this?" I ask, throwing my tool belt down.

"Hey, Darry," Soda greets me, not bothered in the least. "I wasn't expectin' you home so soon."

"That's obvious." At least they both still have their clothes on. "What the hell are you doin' home?"

Soda shrugs. "I was done with automechanics and P.E.-"

"You have five other classes, Soda!"

"This is Sandy," Soda says, gesturing to the wide eyed blonde girl on the couch.

"Hi," I grunt. She's pretty, I'll give my brother that, but he can't skip classes like this. "Soda, can I talk to you in the-"

I'm interrupted by the ringing of our phone. _Please don't let it be the state,_ is my first thought. A cold pit of dread settles in my stomach as I imagine them dragged off to a boys' home because Soda can't manage to go to class.

"Hello," I answer, using my best adult-in-charge voice. I listen intently to the voice on the other end, mind going a mile a minute.

"Who was it?" Soda half whispers when I get off the phone.

"Pony's school." I hold my head in my hands, already feeling a headache forming. "Ponyboy got sent to the principal's office today. He apparently punched a kid in the face."

Suddenly Soda is the least of my worries.

* * *

"What were you thinking?" I sputter angrily. It isn't the first time I've asked, but my youngest brother hasn't given me an answer yet and it's pissing me off. "What the hell were you thinkin'?"

Ponyboy, slumped against the door on the passenger side of my truck, glowers at me. He hasn't said a word since I picked him up, he just looks at me with those green eyes of his. Christ, I feel like a jerk knowing I've been sent home from school for much worse, but it's like he doesn't get what's at stake here.

I take a deep breath and try again. "Ponyboy, just tell me why you decked this kid. That ain't like you, is it?"

He mutters something I can't quite understand. I feel a rush of irritation again, but manage not to yell. "What was that?"

"He said Dad was a no good lazy drunk." I can see tears begin to form in his eyes. He wipes his eyes angrily, turning away to stare out the window. "He said Dad was probably drunk the night he… he…"

 _The night he was killed_. Ponyboy can't quite say it out loud, and God knows I get that. But what he says hits me like a punch in the gut and I feel sick. Because, as bad as it is, I've wondered that myself. And if Dad's drinking got Mom killed…

I clench the steering wheel, knuckles white.

"I understand why you hit him," I manage to say. "But, Pony, you can't just go around punching people who say stuff you don't like. Especially now. If the State thinks I'm not doing a good enough job-"

"It's always about what the State wants with you!" Ponyboy bursts out.

"Yes it is!" My voice rises. "Use your head, Ponyboy! Of course we have to keep the State happy, unless you're aimin' to be sent away-"

"But what about Dad?" His voice is thick with tears. "They said he was a drunk!"

"He liked to drink, Ponyboy, you can't-"

"Stop it! You can't talk like that about him!"

"It's the truth, Ponyboy! Dad was a good guy, but-"

"Shut up!" He screams. "Just shut up!"

I'm close to screaming myself. But, I have to remind myself, Ponyboy is only thirteen. I'm twenty, and the oldest. I had time to know Mom and Dad as they really were, not how they wanted us to see them. Pony never had that time. And now he never will.

"Ponyboy, I'm sorry." He doesn't hear me. We've pulled up in front of the house and he has already jumped out and run inside the house. With a strangled sort of sigh I cut the truck off.

Honestly I'd rather be on a roof somewhere thinking about Diana naked than dealing with this shit.

When I finally go inside, Ponyboy is spilling his guts to a concerned looking Sodapop, words coming fast and furious. Sandy, thank God, is nowhere in sight.

Sodapop looks at me, brow furrowed. "No, Pony, hold on. I'm sure Darry wasn't talkin' bad about Dad or nothin', were you Dar?"

"He said Dad liked to drink!" Pony argues. "He said-"

"Well glory, kiddo, he did!" Soda laughs. "But that don't make him no drunk."

Ponyboy glares at me, but for the moment is pacified. "I have homework," he says icily and beats a quick retreat to his room.

Sodapop waits until he hears the click of Pony's door shutting before he rounds on me. "What the hell was that about? Can't you just give him a break once in a while?"

I drop into the recliner burying my face in my hands. I don't bother to answer. Finally Soda pats my shoulder awkwardly, mercifully letting it go.

Today is a bad day. One of those days where I don't know if I'm doing the right thing. I don't know if I can do this.

"Someone called for you while you were gone," Soda says suddenly.

I look up. "Who?"

He shrugs. "Dunno. They didn't leave a name or number."

"Probably someone from the state then." I can't keep the bitterness out of my voice. "I'm sure they'll call back."

* * *

That night I pull out the bills again. Once more, the math doesn't quite add up. I'll need to find a second job. Something in the evenings. I make a quick list of place I can look and resolve to start in the morning.

I know Soda will protest, but he isn't dropping out of school. Not as long as I'm in charge.

Until I can find one, I work every minute I can. Every bit of overtime my boss offers I snap up. It means more time alone with my thoughts, but I don't mind so much when the extra money hits my paycheck.

It also means less time at home. Soda has promised he won't skip classes anymore, and I have to believe him. I'm at home to eat and sleep.

"That guy called for you again," Soda says one night over green pancakes.

"Still no message?" I ask, irritated both by the phone calls and the green mess on my fork. God, I can't even trust them to cook supper the right way…

"D'you think they're from the state?" Ponyboy looks at me, and I don't miss the flicker of fear in his eyes.

I shrug. Soda's pancakes don't taste too bad when you add a bunch of syrup, I guess, but they look disgusting.

"If it is, we'll handle it," Soda says. "Right, Dar?"

"Yeah."

Pony looks unconvinced. "But what if-"

"Ain't no use worrying about it." And there isn't. But Ponyboy doesn't look comforted.

The phone rings again, and Sodapop bounces up to answer it. "Hello?" He listens for a second, and hen holds out the phone to me with a wicked grin. "It's for you, Darry. It's a _girl_."

My heart drops down to the vicinity of my knees as Ponyboy stares at me. God, if it's Diana… "hello?"

"Darrel." It isn't Diana, but it doesn't sound like anyone from the state either. It's a familiar voice though…

"Lucy?" I ask incredulously. I can't think why Diana's best friend would be calling me. I mean, I _can,_ I just don't really want to.

"Yeah. Henry has been trying to call you-"

" _Henry_ has been calling?" Relief makes me laugh. "Glory, we thought it was someone from the State."

"Um, no," Lucy coughs awkwardly. "Hey listen, I'm really sorry about-"

"Why are you calling?" I'm not really in the mood to hear condolences right now.

"Well Henry wanted to know if you're still planning to go skiing with us in a couple weeks. You had said you'd go back in September, but with everything that has been going on, he didn't know if you'd still want to."

"Skiing. I forgot. I don't think I'll be able to go. I'm sorry."

'Quite alright. I'll let Henry know. Thanks, Darrel."

"Wait! Have you talked to Diana lately?" Shit. Where'd that come from? "I just mean, I've seen her around town a couple times, and she seems sad without Paul."

Lucy doesn't laugh or get short with me, by which I suppose Diana hasn't told her what happened. "I spoke with her yesterday. She seemed okay. I'll tell her you asked."

"You don't have to do that, Lucy."

"Alright. I won't." Lucy sounds confused as heck, and I can't blame her. "I'll talk to you later, Darrel."

I say goodbye and hang up, turning back to my brothers. "So there, Pony. It wasn't the State calling after all, just Henry Abernethy."

"Who is Henry Abernethy?" Ponyboy asks, confused.

"He was captain of the football team when I started playin'. His parents have a house in Colorado where a bunch of people go skiing every spring."

"You should go skiing Darry," Soda says eagerly. A little too eagerly. "It'd be good for you to go and do something."

"You're crazy." I sit back down at the table. My pancakes are already cold and I try not to mind. "If you think I'm leavin' the two of you for a week you're out of your mind."

"I think you should go too," Ponyboy says in a small sort of voice. "You should have fun, relax a little."

The reminder that I've been so irritable lately irritates me. "I'm not going. And that's final."

* * *

 **A/N: With the holidays I don't know how often I will be able to update, so I decided to throw up another chapter this week. Thank you to everyone who is reading! Please review!**


	7. Chapter 7

For the weeks leading up to spring break, I picture how I'll triumph over my ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend. I fantasize about winning him back, only to dump him right after; I consider befriending Miriam and convincing her to leave Paul; in darker moments I even imagine murdering the both of them and dragging their bodies to some old abandoned mine.

As Lucy pilots us towards Colorado on a sunny, Friday afternoon after my classes have finished, all of these plans come crashing down. As the flat landscape of Tulsa ripples and shifts upwards into the mountains of Colorado, I begin to feel something- I refuse to call it excitement- but it makes my hands slightly shaky and I breathe just a little faster.

"Darrel is coming?" I ask, just to make sure I've heard Lucy correctly. "Darrel Curtis?"

Lucy shifts her hazel eyes from the road onto my face, politely puzzled. "Well, yeah, how many Darrel's do we know?"

I sink lower into my seat, covering my eyes. "You told me he wasn't."

"He changed his mind." Another quick glance at me, her mess of curls shifting with each movement. "Is there something I should know about?"

"We had sex." I know she won't judge me for it. Lucy has been with more than a few guys herself. "And he didn't call me afterwards."

"Really? He doesn't seem the type to do that. But then I guess he got around in high school, didn't he?"

"And college," I add. "I remember at one party we went to, I walked into a bedroom and there he was, getting ready to go at it with _two_ girls."

" _Two_? No kidding?"

I giggle. "I wouldn't lie about it."

"So how was it?"

"Well I didn't stay to _observe_ or anything."

"I meant the sex with _you_ , smart ass. How was it?"

"Pretty good." I think about it. "I mean, it was great actually."

"Then what does it matter that he didn't call you? You had great sex."

I know everyone is doing it, I sat through enough assemblies back in high school to know _that_ much, but there was just something about Darrel that made me think it was about more than sex. I say as much to Lucy, adding, "he said he cared about me."

"Well guys usually do," she points out. "They never mean it."

Maybe. But I can't quite shake the feeling that he did.

* * *

We don't get there until very late at night, or very early the next morning depending on how you look at it. I'm driving as we pull into the ski chalet Lucy's family owns, Lucy snores in the passenger seat, blissfully unaware of the rush of emotions I feel. I see Paul's car, and Darry's truck is there already. _If I start now,_ I think, _I bet I could be halfway back to Tulsa before Lucy even thinks about waking up._ But instead I pull all the car right next to Darry's truck and cut off the ignition, irritated at this sudden rush of fear. _I have nothing to be afraid of,_ I remind myself. _Paul and Miriam can't hurt me more than they already have._

"We're here?" Lucy asks drowsily, putting an end to all plans of escape. She takes in my face, and I guess I look as sick as I feel because she squeezes my hand and says, "I promise, if anyone gives you a lick of trouble, we'll turn right around and head back home."

That gives me a bit of courage. Because truth be told, I'm not here for Paul, and I'm not here for Darry. I'm here for Lucy, my best friend in the world, and everyone else can go to hell.

I try to remember that as we unload the car and make our way inside.

* * *

"Ow!" I manage to say as pain radiates through my shin. It's quickly followed by a curse word when I drop the suitcase I'm holding and it falls down the stairs, hitting every single step in an action that would be comedic if it weren't so horrifying. Lights upstairs flicker on and I hear someone shout "Diana's here!" before one of the doors opens and out steps a very angry looking young man.

"What the hell is this?" Henry Abernethy demands, face almost as red as his hair. From the way he holds his head I can tell he is suffering from a hangover already. "Can't you two do anything quietly?"

"Maybe you should have waited up to help us!" Lucy retorts. "Like a proper big brother."

Henry swears lowly and Lucy draws herself back like a snake, ready to strike. Before she can say anything I laugh. "Come on, Luce. Let's just take the rest of these up to our room. Henry looks a little worse for wear."

Henry snarls something incoherently and slams the door. "He could have helped us," Lucy sniffs. The door reopens. "Next time fucking pack less and you won't need help," Henry hisses, and he slams the door shut again.

We manage to find our room, the best room in the house, Lucy insists, without further mishap. "You tired?" Lucy asks, looking wide awake.

"Not at all," I say, suppressing a yawn.

Lucy grins, knowing me for a liar. "Let's go explore."

Lucy's idea of exploring is this: We root around in the kitchen for some hot chocolate, and then make our way out to the back porch. Already the darkness of night is fading into the pale gray of early morning, and we sit down on some deck chairs to sit in silence. This isn't as hard to do for me as you might imagine. I like to talk, and Lord knows I'll talk to just about anyone, but there are so few people I can really enjoy the silence with, and Lucy is one of them.

She may in fact be all of them.

The sun, when it finally makes an appearance, rises over the Rockies in a breathtaking display of dazzling color. _It doesn't matter_ , I think to myself. _Paul and Darry don't matter._ For the first time it occurs to me that my life in Tulsa, maybe even Tulsa itself, are just a small pinprick in a world filled with people and opportunities. I can go anywhere, be anything, _do_ anything.

"There you two are." The voice is slightly familiar, and I feel my grandiose thoughts fading away until it's laughable that I even had them at all.

"Good morning, Teddy," Lucy says brightly, leaning forward, eyes lighting up. Teddy Thompson is Lucy's ex-boyfriend, only they parted much more amicably than Paul and I did. The fact that he is also Henry's best friend might have something to do with that.

"Morning," I say, then yawn and stretch. "I'll just be going back inside, Luce, I'm exhausted."

She doesn't even acknowledge me as I leave, and the last thing I see before sliding the glass door shut is Teddy sitting down beside her and Lucy's slow, almost catlike, smile.

* * *

When I wake up, it's past noon. I blink my eyes, adjusting them to the harsh midday light. It's tempting to just stay in bed, a bed that shows no sign that Lucy has even been in this room since we arrived, but I make myself kick off the covers and get dressed. Then I screw up my courage and venture downstairs.

My courage is utterly wasted as the downstairs is empty. So is the back porch where I last saw Lucy and Teddy. Knocking on Henry's doors produces no answer either. Just as I'm wondering if this is some sort of joke, a head pokes itself out of a room.

"Henry isn't here," Darry explains. "He went for groceries."

"Oh. And everyone else?"

"Karen and Suzanne went into town, I think. Mitch went with them. I don't know where Lucy is. Or Teddy." He's lying. He might not know _exactly_ where they are, but he has a rough idea of what they're doing there. I can tell by the way he tightens his jaw.

He hasn't mentioned Paul and Miriam. I don't ask. I'm not in a hurry to see either one of them. I wasn't really in much of a hurry to see Darry either, but since he is here… no, it's still really awkward. I wonder if he, like me, is remembering what we did the last time we saw each other.

He says something I don't hear, lost as I am in my own thoughts. It takes me a second to realize he is speaking to me. "Wait, what?" I ask, catching the tail end of an unexpected apology.

"I'm sorry," he says. "It was wrong of me to do what I did. You were in a bad way and I took advantage of you."

I blink. "That's not how I remember it going. I clearly remember taking your pants off."

He shifts, uncomfortable. "Either way, I shouldn't have let it happen."

"The part you should apologize for is not calling me afterwards." I cross my arms. "You said you would."

He turns bright red. "I should have. You're right."

"I guess you were busy?" He nods, and I soften. Maybe I am being unreasonable. "I know you have a lot going on with your brothers and work. Let's just chalk it all up to being irresponsible and go back to being friends."

"Friends?" He echoes. "Oh no. I was told we couldn't be friends. You don't know my middle name, favorite color, or what I want to be when I grow up."

"Sarcasm isn't a good look for you, Darrel." I cross my arms and try to look stern, but it's lost a minute later when I can't help but grin. "I'm going to see if there is anything for lunch. You want to come?" He shakes his head, and starts to close his door. "Your middle name is Shaynne by the way, spelled all funny. And your favorite color is green."

He opens the door back up, surprised. I grin. "You aren't the only one who has been paying attention."

* * *

"Here what do you think this is?" Henry shoves a cup in my face.

I sniff. "Uh, liquor?"

Henry snorts. "So smart. No shit, Diana. What kind?"

We're sitting around the Great Room, a fire going in the fireplace. It's a small group this year. Paul, Miriam, Henry, Lucy, and Darry are there of course, as well as Teddy. Henry has brought Jack Keller, a friend from Stanford along with him. Suzanne Lewis and Karen Gilchrist, former cheerleaders both, have also made the trek from their school in Kansas. Mitch Reid, another football player and Suzanne's boyfriend, rounds us out.

"Uh, bourbon?" I hazard a guess. When Henry laughs, I realize I must have guessed wrong. "Well I'm not a liquor expert, Henry, I'll leave that for you."

"'Liquor expert'?" Teddy laughs. "That's a really nice way to say alcoholic."

Henry's middle finger shoots up and he quaffs the glass that was meant to be mine. "It's vodka."

"It _was_ ," I say with a laugh. I struggle to my feet, having already had a few sips of other liquor Henry was intent on teaching me about. "I need some fresh air."

Henry pours himself another glass, and no one else looks like they care much, so I make my way out onto the porch.

I'm out there for a second or two, staring at the moon and wishing I had brought a coat, when I hear the door slide open and the heavy steps behind me. "Did you come out to lecture me about my alcohol consumption?" I ask, knowing it's Darry before I even turn around.

"Nah, I'm just here to make sure you don't fall down the stairs and break your neck. You looked a bit wobbly."

"I'm alright." The wind blows across my face, and I take a deep breath.

"Cold?"

"Yeah."

He puts his arms around me. "Better?"

"Perfect." I savor the moment. "I thought you weren't going to come, you know."

"Mmm, I wasn't going to, but my brothers wouldn't leave me alone about it."

"I'm glad you came," I confess. He's tall enough to rest his chin on my head and I find myself leaning back into him. "I'm really glad."

* * *

Even with his arms and his kisses I can't pretend to be warm for long when the temperature is below freezing. Darry forces us both to go back inside, holding the sliding door open for me to go through before he steps through himself.

"There you are!" Paul cries. He extricates himself from Miriam who has draped herself around him like some sort of blonde kudzu, and comes towards us with a smile. "We were talking about playing Monopoly. Or maybe Clue?"

"Fuck that," Mitch says with a laugh "let's play strip poker."

Darry moves closer, puts his hand on my shoulder. Paul's smile begins to look slightly strained as he looks back and forth between the two of us. "What do you think?"

"Oh I don't care," I say serenely. And for the first time, I really mean it. "Whatever you think."

* * *

It takes me a second to figure out that the pounding I hear the next morning is coming from the hallway and not the inside of my skull. "Ugh," I moan. "What you need?"

"You and Lucy!" Henry calls. "Jack and I want to take you to breakfast."

I scramble out of bed, throwing open the door. Henry is already dressed, red hair slicked back and his letterman jacket on. "Lucy isn't here."

He swears. "I hope she knows what she's doing. Jimmy is coming up on Wednesday. If she blows this engagement…"

"Your business transaction, you mean."

Henry straightens, looking at me with something close to contempt. "No one forced Lucy into this. She _chose_ it."

"Some choice," I mutter.

"It's none of your business. If Lucy's happy, that's all that matters."

"If she were happy she wouldn't be messing around with Teddy."

Henry holds his hands up. "I know, I know. I hate it as much as you do. Believe me. But my dad wants it to happen, so it's happening. It's out of my hands."

"I know." I only sound half as bitter as I feel.

"Cheer up," he says, knocking me in the shoulder playfully. "I don't buy breakfast for sad girls."

* * *

I get ready in record time, throwing a sweater and a skirt on, and just a hint of makeup. I grab my purse and rush out the door, only to collide with Darry.

"Ow." I rub my nose.

"Sorry," Darry mumbles. He shoves his fists in his pocket and looks at me. "I was just wonderin' if you wanted to go into town, grab some food or something."

"Oh no!" I feel real disappointment. "I already told Henry I was going to breakfast with him. I'm sorry."

"Maybe some other time then." He looks down at me, looking earnest. Then he rather unexpectedly reaches out and takes my face in his hands, forcing me to look him in the eyes. "Listen, if Henry has too much to drink, don't get in the car with him. Call me and I'll come pick you up. I don't care where you are."

It seems important to him, so I nod. "Alright. It's breakfast though, so I don't know how much drinking he'll be doing." I try to turn it into a joke because his intensity is scaring me.

"Okay, thanks." He drops my face and take a step backwards. "You look real nice by the way."

"Thanks! I am sorry that I can't go with you."

"Don't worry about it." His fists are back in his pockets. "Have fun."

* * *

I'm wrong about Henry's drinking. He orders coffee and then, when the waiter isn't looking, takes out a flask and pours something clear into the dark liquid.

Jack and I exchange glances, and I venture, "Henry, you're drinking a lot lately. A lot more than usual."

He shrugs. "I'm on vacation."

I look back at Jack who gives a subtle shake of his head. I let it go for now, instead taking a sip of orange juice. "Thanks for asking me to breakfast," I say politely, just for something to say.

"Eh, I heard Curtis mention to his brother on the phone that he was thinking of asking you to go to lunch with him, so I figured I'd move in before he got the chance."

I gape at him. "You _knew_ he was going to ask me?"

Henry nods, and Jack looks uncomfortable. "Of course. Don't worry, Di, a little jealousy is good for the metabolism."

"You… you _asshole_ ," I sputter. "If you ruin this for me, so help me _God_ -"

"Settle down," Henry drawls. "No man was ever scared off by a little competition. Trust me, I'm helping you here. You can't just give him everything on a silver platter."

"What is this? You have one Poly Sci class and you think you're goddamned Machiavelli?" I demand. "Stay out of my _life_ , Henry."

"No." Henry draws himself up and takes a sip of coffee. "I just want to see him stew. It also has the added bonus of annoying Holden. It's a win-win."

"Not for me it isn't," I whine. "What if he doesn't ask me back out again? What if he thinks you and I are an item? What if-"

"What if a giant asteroid collides with Earth and decimates us all?" Henry's voice is a high-pitched mimic of mine, and I cross my arms and glare at him. "You're being ridiculous. Stop it. He'll ask you again."

I crush a napkin in my hand and then launch it at Henry. He doesn't even have to duck my bad throw. I sigh, irritated. "You'd better be right."

"I am," Henry says confidently. "Wait and see, Diana. Just wait and see."

* * *

 **A/N: So here is chapter seven... to be honest I really struggled with this chapter, but I finally decided I had to stop fiddling with it and move on. So here you are. Thank you to anyone who is still reading this story. Please review!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Brief anti-semitism in this chapter. It's in the third section if you choose to skip it.**

"Sodapop, if you're lying to me…"

"Honest, Dar, everything is fine. Ponyboy is fine. Are you having fun?"

I smash my hand against my face, drag it down with an increasing sense of frustration. "Soda, are you absolutely sure everything is fine?"

"Jeeze, Darry, how many times you gonna ask that? Ain't you supposed to be relaxin' or something?"

 _I can't relax when I know you're lying to me_ , I think. I've been here four days now and it has been fun, but this morning I woke up and I had a pit in my stomach and the absolute conviction that things were going wrong. "Just tell me the truth, Soda."

"You callin' me a liar?"

"Put Ponyboy on the phone."

I hear whispers, and then Ponyboy is saying in that tentative voice he uses with me now, "Hello?"

 _Nicely_ , I remind myself. "Hey, Pone."

"How're the mountains?"

It kills me that he's asking because he should ask and not because he cares. I mean, it absolutely kills me. But I try to stay calm and say, "they're pretty. You'd like 'em. But hey, kiddo, is everything okay?"

"Yeah," he hesitates. "I'm having nightmares."

"What kind of nightmares?"

"I don't remember," he mumbles. "I just wake up screaming-"

"Screaming?" My heart skips a beat. "D'you need me to come home?"

"No!" He sounds panicked at the thought. Whether because he doesn't want me to come home or because he is thirteen and embarrassed I don't know. "No, of course not. They're just bad dreams. I'm okay."

"Why didn't Soda tell me?" I ask, growing angry with my younger brother. Here I am, trusting him to be in charge for a week, and he can't even let me know about this.

"We don't want to ruin your vacation." Pony's voice sounds so small and faraway. "You need a break."

I lean my forehead against the cool kitchen wall, take a deep breath, and say, "Yeah, but if you need me-"

"I don't." I know he doesn't mean it like it comes out, but it still hurts. "I mean, we're okay."

"Alright, but call me if you need me and I'll leave right away. You got the number?" Ponyboy affirms that he does, and I make him read it to me just to make sure. It makes him angry that I'm doubting him, and so when we hang up it isn't on the best of terms. I stand by the phone, head still against the wall, and feel a throbbing in my temples begin to form.

"Am I interrupting?"

I turn around. Diana looks at me with her head through the doorway, pajamas on and hair wet from a shower. Whatever floral shampoo she uses wafts over to me. Inhaling it makes me feel calmer, less angry, and I straighten. "Not at all. You need the phone?"

"Yeah. I told my dad I'd call every night." She makes a little face to show that she finds this ridiculous, but I can't help but feel a wave of jealousy that she still has parents who care about her and demand she call them.

I move to let her get to the phone, but I don't leave. I don't know why. It's rude as hell to eavesdrop but I can't bring myself to care.

"Mom!" Diana greets her mother enthusiastically. I swallow painfully, making myself focus on the contours of Diana's perfectly rounded ass. _Calm down,_ I tell myself. _Calm down and think about sex, don't think about how your own parents are six feet under and you have to be a parent to a brother who is only six years younger than you even though you're terrified and have no idea what to do._ Diana helpfully wiggles her ass and I take a deep, calming breath.

"Oh, Henry took me out for dinner," Diana assures her mother breezily, distracting me from both sex and grief with a powerful surge of jealousy. "Again. He wants me to go with him to some big event Friday night, meet some of his dad's investors. He says I can work for him this summer if I want since he graduates and has to start at his dad's company."

Henry. Fucking Henry. I'd like nothing more than to pound his smug, freckled face into the ground. He and Diana have spent every day skiing together and every night going out to dinner. Lucy has been openly hinting at upcoming nuptials. I never had a problem with Henry before, but I hate him now.

Diana turns around, staring at me and hiding her ass from view. "What's wrong?" She mouths at me, and I realize with a start that I must be glaring at her. I shake my head, take my fists out of pocket, and make an effort to appear less grim.

"Sure, put Dad on," Diana chirps, and her whole demeanor changes. She stands up a bit straighter, says 'yes sir' and 'no sir', and lies her head off about the drinking going on in the house.

It was always the opposite way in my house. Dad was always the one you could laugh with and who might leave a window unlocked if you missed curfew. Mom was the disciplinarian. She never raised a hand to any of us, but she had this way of looking at you that made you wish she would. The only thing Dad ever minded was if you disrespected _her_. I still remember one time Sodapop screaming at Mom that he hated her, and Dad taking off his belt right then and there to really lay into Soda. Mom stopped him before he could hit Soda, but it scared Soda so bad he never said anything like that again.

Diana's conversation is winding down. I watch as she twists the phone cord between her fingers, tells her parents she loves them, and hangs up the phone a lot more gently than I did. "You look angry," Diana notes, talking to me.

What am I supposed to say to that? That I'm angry because she has gone out with Henry every night? That I'm angry because my brothers keep secrets from me? That I'm angry because my parents are dead? I must be glaring at her something awful now, because she starts to look a little nervous and her eyes dart to the door. I groan and run my hands over my face again. "Bad day," I say, even though it isn't really much of an explanation.

She laughs a little. "Gracious, how do you have a bad day when you're on vacation?"

"I manage."

She moves a little closer to me and we stand in silence for a moment. She looks up at me, expecting something. _Am I supposed to kiss her?_ I wonder. I've got so much on my mind right now that I don't want to over complicate it, but maybe I'm overthinking this. She hasn't demanded anything from me. Maybe she just wants some fun. My stomach gives a painful twist at that thought. I want Diana for more than just _fun._

"Diana, you finish up that phone call? Because we're setting up to play Monopoly, and Miriam went for the thimble." He holds up a shiny metal piece. "I snatched it away from her. Because she might be able to take your boyfriend, but under _no_ circumstances will she take your thimble."

Diana moves away from me, beaming now at Henry. _Fucking Henry_. I follow them into the Great Room, sick with jealousy and anger and everything else I'm feeling. _Fucking Henry_.

* * *

I spend the next day with Paul and Miriam on the slopes. Paul is jovial and charming and gives no hint to his new girlfriend that he spent the night discussing various ways to murder Henry. He's jealous too, only he's much more verbal about it. Not that I didn't throw in an idea or two. Or six.

"What do you think of Miriam?" Paul asks me quietly as we ride the chair lift together.

"She's no Diana." I frown. "I told you not to do it."

"I wish I'd listened." He frowns for a second at Miriam, who now waits for him at the top of the slope, but after a second he's all smiles again as he glides to meet her. You'd never know Diana existed at all.

* * *

Paul and I stay up late that night, reliving past glories in front of the Great Room's fireplace. We're in the middle of reenacting how we won State when Diana pokes her head in.

"Darrel, that's Mrs. Abernethy's favorite vase, not a football. I'm sure she'd appreciate it if you put it down." She comes in, looking good in an expensive looking black dress. "Gracious, you're both drunk, aren't you? I can smell the liquor from here."

"It's not just liquor, Diana, it's voooodka," Paul drawls, a weak imitation of Henry. "Where is your new boyfriend anyway?"

"If you mean Henry, he's already drunk and sleeping it off in his room," Diana says promptly, draping herself on the couch. "I'd ask where Miriam is, but I'm afraid I don't care. Please pass me that vodka." Paul does as she asks, and she takes a sip right from the bottle. "God, that's vile."

"You stop tasting it after a while," I joke. I sit down beside her on the couch, watching as she takes another sip. The face she makes tells me that it doesn't taste any better this time either.

"So where'd he drag you to tonight?" Paul asks nastily. "Some expensive restaurant? He's just trying to buy your affections."

"Oh you think so?" Diana blinks. "He's got loads of cash, maybe I'll let him." If the attraction of Henry Abernethy is his money, then I am well and truly fucked because I don't have two nickels to rub together. Paul would fare slightly better, something he is only too quick to point out. "But you don't have Western Hills money," Diana argues, naming the most prestigious country club in Tulsa.

"And you don't have Western Hills heritage," Paul snaps. "No dogs or Jews."

"Paul, you ass," I say, watching as Diana's face falls. "What's wrong with you?" Diana moves closer to me and I put an arm around her. Paul's eyes travel back between me and Diana, possibly noting the way she leans into me a little too much or the proprietary way I hold on to her waist, and I see a flicker of suspicion in his eyes before it's gone. He just can't believe I'd do that that to him.

"I'm sorry," he says, plopping down at her feet. He takes the vodka bottle from her and takes another swig. "I just can't stand that guy." Another swig. "He's not good enough for you."

"You don't think so?" Diana's brows furrow. "He's got plenty of money, a degree from one of the best colleges in the country, and the promise of future employment at his dad's company. How _exactly_ is he not good enough?"

"He's got red hair," Paul slurs, stumbling to his feet. "An' he's short. You want little midget freaks as kids?" Paul is really warming to his theme, pacing as he talks. "I can see it now. You'll have five or six of 'em, all freckled and with carroty hair. They'll cry all the time. All the time. And you know what else? You know what else?" Paul yawns and throws himself into armchair. All it takes is second and he's out.

"God I forgot what he's like when he drinks." Diana says, rolling her eyes. "Are you going to start lecturing me now?"

I pull away from her, unable to resist the opening. "Yeah. I think you ought to really think about what you're doing with Henry."

"Hopefully you have more objections than the red hair." Diana pulls away from me suddenly, gets to her feet and retrieves the vodka bottle from Paul's body. She take a larger swig this time, and shudders. "I don't know how you all do this. It's disgusting. Disgusting." She draws out her vowels on the last word.

I watch her as she places the almost empty bottle on the mantle above the fireplace. I don't know how much I should tell her. And I don't know how much of what I want to say to her is based on jealousy and how much is based on genuine concern. She sinks down in front of the fire, dress billowing around her. She looks beautiful sitting there with the fire reflecting off her dark hair and pale face. There's a moment where I think, _I should tell her that_ , where I think maybe we can just make out or something and I won't have to actually talk to her, but then I think of my mother and I know I have to explain things to Diana.

"My dad drank all the time." I glance at Paul as I say it, making sure he's really out, because it's one thing to be open and honest in front of Diana and quite another to do it in front of Paul. Just in case he can actually hear me, I drop down in front of Diana and lower my voice. "I mean, he drank _all the time_. He couldn't keep a job because of it."

Her eyes are wide. "Darry-"

"No, listen to me, Diana. Just listen. Maybe it'll be different with Henry, and I hope it will be, but you have no idea what my dad put my mom through with his drinkin'."

"Darry-"

"He cheated on her." I've never said it out loud before, but it gets her attention. "When I was younger, they used to fight about it. She'd threaten to leave and he'd promise to stop drinkin' and cheatin', but he could never quite manage to control himself. By the time I was older she'd stopped arguing. I guess she didn't really have anywhere to go, not with three kids and no education. But I knew all about him by then. They could fool everyone else, but they couldn't fool me. " I laugh bitterly. "And you know the worst thing? He was probably drunk the night of the accident. Don't wind up like that, Diana. Please."

She doesn't say anything for the longest time. I stare into the fire, trying to swallow the painful lump in my throat. There were times I couldn't stand my parents, things I wished to Hell they'd done different. But I miss them. I miss my fucking parents.

She must say my name a few times, but it isn't until she touches my sleeve real gentle that I look at her. I almost don't want to look because I don't want to see the pity in her eyes, like she's looking at me and thinking _poor dumb guy crying for his drunk daddy_ , but she surprises the hell out of me by looking guilty.

"There's nothing going on between Henry and me," she confesses softly, glancing back at Paul. "Really. He's just trying to distract me, give me something else to think about, you know? He's overselling it because he can't stand Paul, but that's what it is. It's hard, being in the house with them. I just keep wondering what was wrong with me? What does she have that I don't?"

"It isn't you, it's him," I say, which is as close as I'll ever come to telling Diana that Miriam wasn't Paul's first foray into infidelity, not by a long shot. I feel about ten inches tall for having blabbed all my feelings like a dammed girl when I didn't even need to, so I'm hoping Diana doesn't want to to talk anymore, but I think talking is some sort of addiction for Diana because she doesn't stop.

"Is that why you stopped talking to me?" Diana asks. "One day we were friends and then the next day we weren't. Was it because you didn't want to tell me about Paul?"

I snort. "You know damn well why I stopped talking to you."

"I didn't think you'd remember that."

That earns another snort from me. "Remember it? I made out with my best friend's girl in the backseat of his car. I wouldn't forget that."

"You were drunk."

"I was _not."_ My temper is close to the breaking point and I'm not sure if I'm madder at her or myself. "I was perfectly sober."

"I know you were. I just told myself that you were drunk so that I didn't have to think about why you'd done it." She draws her knees up and rests her chin on me, looking at me with those big, dark eyes. "Why _did_ you do it?"

It's like she wants me to give her all of my secrets, to offer up my soul to her in this very dark room with its dying fire and my drunk friend now snoring softly in the background. I look at her. I just look. It would make it so much easier if I could just hate her and be done with her, but I can't do that. So I open my mouth and give her everything.

"Because I wanted to. You looked so good that night and I felt like nothing could touch me. So I figured what the hell." I say it through clenched teeth. I'm doing it, but I don't really want to. "You can't tell me you never noticed how much I liked you."

"You can't tell me you never noticed how much I liked _you_ ," she returns.

"Well I just wanted to kiss you that night. I'd wanted to for years. I wasn't thinking." I laugh ruefully. "Somehow when I'm around you I never remember to think."

"That's kind of sweet."

"It's not a good thing!" I snap, but I don't meant to. "I just can't afford to not think these days."

"I understand." She bites her lip. "So where does that leave us?"

"This is pretty much the worst idea ever." I ball my hands into fists and stare into the fire. I'm so angry with how this has all turned out. There's always something keeping Diana and me apart.

"We can just keep being friends, Darry," she points out.

"I don't _want_ to be friends." It comes out childishly selfish, dangerously near whining. "I can't keep my hands off of you. I've wanted to kill Henry this entire week. Those aren't friendly feelings."

"So what do you want from me?"

That's a loaded question if I ever heard one. Because there's the real answer, everything, and what the answer has to be, which is nothing. There really isn't a middle ground. "I don't know."

"We don't have to decide tonight," she says. She scoots towards me, rests her head on my shoulder. And we sit together as the fire burns itself down into nothing, watching until only ashes are left.

 **A/N: Western Hills is a completely fictional country club. Anti-semitism was very real during this period, and some country clubs did have policies that excluded Jews. As always, thanks to those who read and review. It's very motivating to know that people are enjoying this story.**


	9. Chapter 9

"It's our last night," I observe, propelled to sentimentality by both the wine I've been drinking and Darry's lips on my neck. We're in my bed, both still, fully clothed, but he's certainly giving proof to his statement that he can't keep his hands off of me. I've long since decided that if he wants to take things further I'm game, but so far he hasn't shown an interest. "It's hard to believe it's already been a week. I wish we didn't have to go home."

I feel him stop moving for just a moment, and curse my choice of words. What do I have to complain about? I get to go back to my relatively carefree life. He's the one working himself to death trying to raise his brothers.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, feeling my tipsy nostalgia making a sharp right turn into tearful regret. "That was-"

"I'm not that sensitive, Diana," he says, rather snippily. "You don't have to apologize. I know what you meant."

"Okay." I throw my arms around him. 'I just meant I was going to miss you."

He presses one more kiss to my collarbone, and then pulls away. "I think we need to talk."

This isn't going to go well for me. I can already tell that by the look in his eyes; it isn't the look of someone about to confess undying love, but it's the perfect look for when you're about to break someone's heart. "I don't like the sound of that." I try to make it a joke, but it's too honest to be funny and he doesn't even smile.

He runs a hand down my bare leg. His hands are warm, and I give a little shiver. He closes his eyes for a second, and when he reopens them they're slightly unfocused, like he's concentrating very hard on what he has to say. "Once we get back to Tulsa, I think it would be better if we didn't see each other anymore."

It isn't completely unexpected. Honestly, I've seen it coming since he sat me down in front of the fireplace and told me his life's story. That's why I grabbed him and pulled him into my room after supper tonight. It's our last night in more ways than one. Still, I can't help but ask, "why?"

"I have my hands full," he says bluntly. "My brothers have to come first right now. You get that, don't you?"

"Of course I do." I think. "Your youngest brother is what, thirteen?"

"He'll be fourteen in June."

I do some quick calculations and then laugh ruefully. My mother would have serious heart palpitations if I stayed single for the next four years. "I know you have a lot on your plate right now. But do you really think you need to sacrifice everything?"

"Yes." He says it so firmly that every argument opposed dies in my mouth. "You don't know how it is in my neighborhood. Ponyboy has a real shot to make something of himself, to be somebody. He's smart as a whip, Diana. Smarter than me, smarter than most people. But he's also thirteen and dumb. If I don't stay on top of him, he'll blow every chance he has." He pauses, looking away from me. "Making somethin' out of him is the only thing I have left anymore. I can't mess it up. Not even for you."

I reach for his hand. It takes me a second to think past the shame I feel in the face of his selflessness. "I get it," I finally manage to say. "I do."

"Good," he says, suddenly all business again. "Then you'll also get it when I say I don't want you hanging around Joanie anymore."

"Now hang on! You don't get to tell me who I can and can't be friends with. Not when you're telling me you never want to see me again!"

He crosses his arms, gives me that pitying look he has which implies that I'm being awful stupid at the moment but he's going to make it better by explaining why he's right, even though it's so apparent that he really shouldn't have to. "Joanie could get you into some real awful trouble one day. She's no good. I just want to know you're safe. Promise me? Please?"

Maybe it's the please, or the worrying about my safety that does it, or maybe it's the fact that Joanie hasn't even said one word to me since I spoiled our double date that makes me nod and agree. "Fine. Any other rules you'd like to impose on me?"

"Yes. Make sure your skirts are at least knee length. Look both ways before crossing the street. Stop skipping classes on Fridays just because that's when they have discount ice cream. And no new boyfriends."

"What about old ones?" I ask, thinking about Paul. Things between him and Miriam seemed awfully tense tonight. It wouldn't surprise me if they broke up on the way home.

"Definitely not." He frowns down at me. "I know I don't have any right to ask that of you, Diana."

"It's okay, I have no intention of listening to you." I try to sound cheerful, despite the fact that I'm dying a little inside. "Half-price ice cream is the only thing that gets me through the week."

He strokes my hair and give me a tender look. It's still a trifle exasperated and annoyed, but it's filled with real regret. "This doesn't make me happy. I want you to know that. I'm, well, thanks for not making this any harder than it has to be."

I feel a surge of bitterness at that. I'm a doormat. _Treat me anyway you like, I won't make it hard for you_ , I think sourly. But I stuff it back down. He's trying to do a good thing, the right thing, and he doesn't deserve my recriminations for it one bit. But if we're not going to see each other ever again, and I know him too well to think he'll budge on that, there is one thing I'm dying to know. "Can I ask you a question? Since we're never going to see each other again and all that?"

A muscle in his jaw jumps, and I can tell he's nervous about what I'll ask. But he nods. "What d'you want to know?"

"Being with two girls at once, what's it like?"

He stops stroking my hair mid-stroke and gapes down at me. "What?"

"I saw you and two girls at a party last summer. It was an accident, but I know what happened. What was it like?" His mouth moves up and down wordlessly and I think he's having some trouble answering, so I figure maybe he needs a little bit of prompting. "I mean, where do the hands go? Isn't that a lot of pressure on you? Was it fun?"

"You're nuts," he finally says.

"I'm just curious," I say, slightly hurt. "I guess I could go find out for myself, but I figured it was just easier to ask. But maybe Paul and Miriam are looking to spice things up, should I-"

He covers my mouth. "Stop talking. Just please, stop talking." I stop talking and look up at him expectantly. He looks pensive for just a second, but then he cracks possibly the biggest grin ever. "It was really great. Really, really great."

Well, of course I have to hear more about _that_. So I sit up, and he regales me with the story of his one and only threesome. And thus my last night with him is spent listening to his stories about having sex with someone (or some _ones_ ) else. It's not a bad ending for a relationship that has been a comedy of errors. It's not a bad ending at all.

* * *

I wake up early the next morning and pack. And by pack, I mean I basically throw everything into my suitcases unfolded. I'll sort it out at home. I'm sitting on one suitcase, trying to close it, when Lucy bursts in. Her eyes are red and swollen from crying.

"I'm going to miss him so much," she sobs, throwing herself down on the bed. "It isn't fair."

"You don't have to marry Jimmy," I point out. "I mean, he couldn't even be bothered to visit you for part of the week, even after he promised."

She sniffs. "Diana, you don't understand!"

"I understand you're not happy!" I protest. "You're miserable just being engaged to Jimmy. You think suddenly you'll be happy when you're married?"

"Oh please," Lucy snaps. "Your life is such a mess right now, I don't see why you think you can give advice." Then she freezes. "Oh, God, Diana. I am so sorry. I'm just so upset right now. I am so, _so_ sorry."

"It's okay." My smile is rather frozen on my face. "I get it. I'm going to take my suitcases down to the car."

"Keys are on the table downstairs," Lucy says. I can tell she's embarrassed by her slight outburst, and honestly I need a minute because it hit way too close to home.

I meet Paul on the way downstairs, and since he offers I let him carry my suitcase. He heaves them into Lucy's trunk with absolutely no delicacy at all, and then says to me, "Miriam and I broke up last night."

I shield my eyes from the sun; it seems extra bright glaring off of the snow. He looks honestly sad about the breakup, but maybe it's because he used up his only spare and now he doesn't have anyone. "I'm sorry to hear that," I lie. "That was awfully sudden." I resist the urge to say anything more sarcastic, although I'm dying to.

"Yeah." He takes a deep breath. "She thinks I'm hung up on my ex-girlfriend."

"Oh."

He moves closer to me. "She isn't wrong."

"Oh." I think. "That's going to be an awfully tense car ride home."

He laughs ruefully. "Tell me about it." Then he clears his throat and, looking a bit bashful, asks me, "would it be okay if I call you when we get back to Tulsa?"

"Well I can't stop you," I point out. "Free country and all."

He rolls his eyes. "Will you _answer_?"

I think about it. What harm can it do, really? Darry doesn't want me and my other attempts at dating haven't panned out too well. Maybe the universe is telling me that I belong with Paul. He wasn't so bad, not really. "Yes," I say finally. "I think I might."

* * *

"Diana," my father says Monday morning over a breakfast of cornflakes (for me) and ham and cheese omelettes (him). "Paul Holden called for you last night. I told him it was too late to be calling, but I'd give you his message. He wants you to call him, when you get a chance. But if you want my advice, you shouldn't. Let him stew."

My dad sounds particularly jovial this morning, and I don't know if it's the phone call or not. My dad was always a big fan of Paul, or more likely Paul's father who owns a chain of dry cleaning places in town and always charged my dad half-price when Paul and I were dating. For the first time I wonder if our breakup affected my dad's expenses; is he back to paying full price?

"I'll take your advice into consideration, sir," I say with a grin. Since he seems like he's in a good mood, I decide to plunge ahead with something that has been on my mind awhile. I take a quick look at my mom, who gives me an almost imperceptible nod, and then say, "Daddy, can I ask you something?"

He raises his eyebrows. "What do you want now? A new dress? Shoes? A car?'

I blink. "Well, a car would be nice… but no, that isn't what I wanted to talk about? It's about school."

My father sets down his glass of orange juice. He's never been a big coffee drinker, swearing that juice wakes him up just as well. I don't know how that looks for him at work, a tough prosecutor chugging orange juice by the pint, but that's just how he is. "What's wrong?" He slips into his lawyer voice, the one he uses to question witnesses and wayward teenage daughters. "Are you failing your classes?"

"Of course not," I say indignantly. My parents have always been fairly strict about my grades. "It's just… I was thinking about changing my major."

"To?"

"History," I say. "I think I'd like to be a lawyer-"

My dad smiles like I've just told a rather amusing joke, and I guess in his eyes I have. "Diana, darling, do you know how long law school takes?"

"Yes," I answer. "I've got three more years of college, and then I can start law school."

"It's intense work, honey." I can tell he's trying to let me down easily, but it hurts all the same. "When you get married and have children you won't have much time for the law, I'm afraid. Ask your mother. I think I lived at the office your first three years of life."

My mother smiles beatifically. "Oh, yes, but we managed."

"Well, a home can't manage without a wife and mother." He nods at my mother. "I wouldn't be able to do half of what I do without your mother." My mother pinks at the compliment and I want to vomit.

"Well maybe I won't get married," I say. "I could just be a lawyer."

My father is unable to contain his laughter this time. "Leah, what have you been letting your daughter read?" And then to me, he says, "honey, I'm not sending you to school to be indoctrinated by hippies. You talk now about not wanting to get married, but the right boy will come along and sweep you off your feet any day now. And then all of this career talk will be for nothing." He stand up, pats me on the head like an obedient dog, and finishes with, "stick to art, you're good at it."

When he's gone, my mother begins to clear up the dirty dishes that he left behind. It's what she does every morning. And this is what my father wants for me: A lifetime of cleaning, cooking, and doing one mindless task after another. I push my cornflakes away, no longer hungry.

"He just wants what's best for you," my mother says softly. "He loves you very much."

I shrug. "I have to go to school."

* * *

The Monday after vacation is always the worst. I didn't manage to do any of my assigned reading over the break, and it's like my professors can smell my ignorance of whatever we're discussing, because they all call on me. It's a bad day all around, and I'm so frustrated by noon that I do something unthinkable: I go find Paul.

I find him coming out of one of his accounting classes, and he looks surprised to see me lurking outside the classroom. But he trots over and smiles at me. "I called you," he says. "But your dad-"

"He told me." The mention of my dad brings back to the forefront all of my anger and disappointment from this morning. Something in my tone makes Paul cock his head to the side and stare at me. "I don't want to go to anymore classes today," I confess. What's the point of going to English when the only possible future I'll have is as a wife and mother? I don't think anyone is going to show up wanting to discuss Chaucer or Proust when I'm ironing my husband's trousers.

Paul smiles, warm blue eyes lighting up. "I know where we can go."

* * *

"Mom, I'm home!" Paul calls out as he throws open the door to his house. I'm trailing along behind him, feeling a little worried about coming to his house. I know what he'll expect out of this and I'm not sure I want to deliver. But when he offers to take my coat, I let him.

I've been to Paul's house many times before. It's a large house, as most of the houses on the west side are, but surprisingly cozy for all of that. Family pictures line the wall, as do a few tasteful oil paintings. And there's always something delicious cooking, courtesy of Mary the housekeeper, whom Paul is now hugging affectionately.

"Diana! I was wondering when we were gonna be seeing you around here again!" Mary gives me a hug too.

"I'll be right back," Paul tells me, touching my shoulder. "I'm just going to tell Mom I'm back."

I've only met Paul's motherl once, the night of his senior prom. She's very reclusive, preferring to spend all of her time in her bedroom. Paul once confided that she suffered some sort of mental breakdown after her eldest son, Paul's much older brother Tommy, was killed in Korea. Truthfully, I think the housekeeper acts more like a mother to him (and I know for a fact she acts more like a wife to Paul's father, but that's another story), but Paul loves his mother very much. He always lets her know what he's up to, even if she doesn't respond.

When Paul comes back, he takes me straight up to his room. Mary says nothing: No one ever really says no to Paul. Back in high school, we always came back to his room whenever we felt like it and no one ever said anything. As the child of very vigilant parents it was strange at first, but I have to admit it was nice not to have to settle for frenzied couplings in the backseat of his car like the other girls I knew.

"It hasn't changed much, has it?" Paul jokes as I look around his room. And he's right. His room has always been, and probably always will be, an homage to football. Trophies line his walls, as do pictures of his teammates winning various games. Even his brother Tommy's picture, the one Paul keeps on his nightstand, shows his brother in a football uniform, arm around the cheerleader he married and widowed in the space of a year.

"I didn't expect it to," I admit, but then I see something interesting. "You still have my picture!" It's me in my cheerleading uniform, eating ice cream. Paul swore it was his favorite picture of me, and I wonder if he has always kept it or if he had it filed away in a drawer while he was with Miriam. If I searched, would I find her pictures stored away somewhere, just in case?

Paul clears his throat. "Thanks for giving me a second chance, Diana. I know I don't deserve it."

 _You don't_ , is what I want to say. But it sounds unfriendly, so I try to smile. "Well, you did save me from English."

Paul continues like he doesn't even hear me. "These couple of months without you were horrible. I really don't know what I was thinking. I missed you everyday. I've really learned something, Diana. I realize how much you meant to me and how much I care about you."

"Oh, Paul." I'm at a loss for words. The words are sweet and his face is sincere, but I can't shake the feeling that something is very, very wrong.

His blue eyes, eyes that share only the name blue with Darry's eyes because they look nothing alike, search my face. "Diana, was there anyone else while we were broken up? I won't be angry, I just want to know."

I know better than to tell him about Darry. Paul isn't really the jealous type, but I think sleeping with his best friend would cross some sort of line. Besides, I'm not planning to ever see Darry again, so it shouldn't be an issue. "I went on a couple of dates," I confess, alluding to the guy Joanie tried to fix me up with. "But nothing ever came of them."

"Who?" He demands.

I blink. I've never heard that tone of voice from him before, and it throws me for a loop. "I think his name was Don? I didn't get to know him too well. It was mostly done as a favor to this girl from my drawing class. We didn't get along really well, to be honest."

"Oh," Paul breathes a sigh of relief and I wonder what exactly he thought I was doing while he was with Miriam. "I thought… well, nevermind. Don, huh? I can live with that."

"Well I have to live with Miriam," I point out.

"I already apologized for that," Paul snaps.

"I know, I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too," Paul says. He laughs a little and drops a kiss on my forehead. "I guess I mind more than I thought I would."

"Paul," I start, wondering if maybe I should confess about Darry, but he stops me with a kiss. The kiss deepens, and then we're tumbling backwards into his bed.

His hands are everywhere, and soon enough he's undoing his belt and pushing up my skirt. "I missed you so much," he whispers, nibbling on my ear. "You have no idea how much I needed this."

I want to say no but I don't really have a good enough reason to tell him to stop. It's not like we haven't done this before, and I did come up here with him. I knew what I was getting into. So even if I really don't want to, even if it makes me feel like I'm about to throw up, I don't say no. I stare up at the ceiling while his body moves against mine, and I try not to hate myself.

He holds me afterwards. I hear him talking about all the places we're going to go, and all the things we're going to do now that we're back together. I don't remember agreeing to any of this, but I let him talk even if I can't quite focus on his words. I just want to go home. I want to take a shower. I want to forget about this day altogether. But instead I just lay there and listen to him talk. For some reason I can't quite make myself leave.

* * *

 **A/N: This is my longest chapter yet! Do you all prefer longer or shorter chapters? Thank you for reading and please let me know what you think by reviewing!**


	10. Chapter 10

"I need to make an appointment with Dr. Lewis," I say into the phone.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Lewis has retired," the nurse says. I pinch the bridge of my nose. Of course he has. Nothing can be easy for me. "I can set you up an appointment with Dr. Simmons if you'd like," she offers cooly.

"That's fine. I need the soonest available, please." I've been home about a week and I've been treated to a few of those nightmares Ponyboy described to me over the phone. They're terrifying enough for me: I can't imagine what they're like for him. When he wakes up, the only person who can comfort him is Sodapop. It makes me feel like shit, truth be told, but Pony has always been Soda's pet. So I try to stuff the jealousy down and be thankful that there is _someone_ who can help. I don't know if a doctor can help, but I have to try. Even if it means a day off work and money we don't have.

"We have an opening tomorrow." I take it, scribbling down the time with my dull pencil on a scrap piece of paper. When I hang up the phone, I feel better. I'm doing something, and now i just have to wait to see if it pans out.

"What're you doing?" Ponyboy asks me. He opens the icebox, searching for a chocolate cake. Soda started letting them eat it for breakfast while I was away, and I didn't want to come home and start yelling. Also, it's chocolate cake for breakfast and I like that too.

"I'm making you a doctor's appointment." I say it firmly, like I know what I'm doing.

Pony, now cutting himself a piece of the cake Soda baked last night, looks up, surprised. "I'm not sick."

"I know you're not. I thought he might have an idea about your nightmares."

Pony hunches his shoulders over. He doesn't like talking about it. And really what thirteen year old kid would? "I'm fine, Dar," he mumbles.

"Maybe. But the doctor will tell us for sure." I try to smile. "Look on the brightside, kiddo. At least you'll get out of school early."

Ponyboy licks chocolate frosting off his lips and looks thoughtful. "You think it'll help?"

"I do." I try to sound more confident than I actually feel.

My youngest brother looks at me with wide green eyes. "Okay."

* * *

Later that night, long after I think Ponyboy and Sodapop have gone to sleep, I go through the bills again. Red letters stare up at me. Nothing good is ever written in red, I guess, and that includes the phrases 'Past Due' and 'Final Notice'. I sort through them again, trying to decide what we can live without for a week or two until I can manage to find a second job.

It hasn't been as easy as I thought it would be. My hours roofing houses can tend to be slightly irregular and I never know exactly where I'll be working from week to week. It doesn't look real good when you have to say you don't know what hours you can work.

I see feet moving underneath the door before I hear a knock. "Come in," I call.

Sodapop opens the door. "Damn, Dar. You got super hearing or somethin'?"

I roll my eyes. "Wouldn't that be nice."

Soda grins, and then shuffles his feet a little. He looks at me and my heart sinks. I recognize Soda's guilty looks.

"Oh no." I cast aside the bill I'm holding. "What've you done."

"Don't get mad."

"You can't just tell me that!" I protest, anger rising. "What did you do?"

He examines the floor. "I got a speeding ticket."

"God damnit!" I throw my pencil against the wall. "We don't have money for that, Soda! And after Mom and Dad… how can you be so irresponsible?"

"You shouldn't throw things," he remarks mildly.

"You're lucky I don't throw _you_." I swear again. "There isn't any money. I can't even pay the bills."

"About that…"

"Oh, God. What now?" I don't think I can take anything else right now.

"Well, I dropped out." Seeing my reddening face, Soda rushes to explain. "It makes sense. You know I'm not passin' hardly anything, and my boss says I can go full time at be DX, so I'll be bringin' in a whole paycheck." He pauses. "They won't let you keep Pony if you can't pay the bills."

All the fight goes out of me when he says that. Because I know he's right. I don't know what the state will say about Soda dropping out, but I sure as hell know what they'll do if I can't keep the lights on or the fridge filled. But still, it feels like I'm sacrificing one brother's future for the other's. "You don't have to give up everything for Ponyboy," I remind Soda.

He gives me a lopsided grin. "Neither did you."

I think about that. "Okay, Soda. Okay."

I see tension I didn't even know he was holding flow out of Soda's shoulders. "Thanks."

I shrug, feeling equal parts guilty and relieved. My parents would probably be disappointed, but they aren't here right now and I just have to muddle along and do the best I can. "You were going to do it anyway. And we do need the money." He turns to go. "Soda!" He looks back. "You get another ticket and I'll kick the everlovin' shit out of you, got it?" I don't think I could take it if I lose one more person I love.

Soda smiles, gently this time. "Got it."

And I know he does.

* * *

"Physically I don't see anything wrong," the doctor explains. "I think what Ponyboy needs is more activity."

I lean forward in my chair. From his spot on the examination table, Ponyboy looks as confused as I feel. "More activity?"

Dr. Simmons smiles and nods. "Yes. More reading, more football, more studying. I understand your family has just suffered a loss?" I nod curtly, unwilling to discuss it further, and to my relief the doctor continues. "The less time Ponyboy has to dwell on this, the better."

"But there's nothing wrong with him otherwise?" I ask again. He can't tell me waking up screaming in the middle of the night is normal, because I know it isn't. It can't be. I might not have some fancy degree hanging on my wall like the doctor does, but I know that much.

"Just an excess of imagination," Dr. Simmons says with a smile. "Just try keeping him busy. If it doesn't work, come back and we can discuss medication-"

"Medication?"

"Sleeping pills," Dr. Simmons explains patiently.

"I don't want to be drugged," Ponyboy protests, and I'm inclined to agree.

"It's a last resort." Dr. Simmons surveys the both of us. "If there are no more questions…"

Taking the hint, I get to my feet and go to help Ponyboy down off the table. He jerks away from me. "Thank you," I say to the doctor, and then turn to my stubborn brother. "Let's go get some ice cream."

* * *

"I ain't a baby," Ponyboy mumbles when we get to the car. "You don't gotta bribe me with ice cream."

"Fine, you want to grab a couple of beers?" Ponyboy turns bright red and I laugh, which makes him glare at me because now he thinks I'm making fun of him. My hands curl around the steering wheel and I take a deep breath. "What do you want to do then?"

"We could go see a movie."

"Don't you think we got enough going on in our own lives without worrying about other people's?" I mean it as a joke, but Ponyboy looks offended.

"Can I just go by myself then?"

"You want to go to a movie by yourself?" I try not to let it bother me that my brother would rather go sit in the dark by himself for an hour and a half rather than spend time with me, but I fail miserably.

He shrugs. "It ain't so bad."

"If you want to, I guess." I shake my head. "You sure?"

He nods. I sigh, and turn the car towards the movie theater in the middle of town.

* * *

Ponyboy slides out of the car almost as soon as I pull up in front of the movie theater. "Aren't you forgetting something?" I ask, holding up a dollar.

"Thanks." Ponyboy's fingers close around bill, and he shoves it into his pocket.

"Don't get into any trouble," I can't stop myself from warning him. "I'll be back in an hour or two."

And I watch him run away, eager to put as much distance between the two of us as possible.

* * *

The sun is setting when I come back. I spent the time Ponyboy was watching a movie canvassing the area for employment and got a few promising leads. I lean against the brick wall of the theater, hoping Ponyboy comes out soon. I'm tired and I have to go to work tomorrow. Against my will, my eyes slide shut and I feel myself relax into the wall.

And then I hear it. A laugh. A very familiar laugh. I open my eyes.

Diana stands only a few feet away from me. And there too, with one possessive arm wrapped around her slim waist, is Paul Holden. _Good for them,_ I think. Neither one of them has seen me yet, and I think maybe I can keep it that way. But then Paul moves to kiss her, and before I can stop myself I'm calling out her name and they're both turning to look at me. And so I step towards them, thanking God I had to take Pony to the doctor today because it means I'm dressed halfway decent.

"Fancy meeting you here," Diana says blithely, dark eyes twinkling as she looks up at me.

Paul looks a little less enthusiastic to seem me, but he manages to smile. "Darrel, how's it going?" I don't know if it's my imagination or not, but Paul seems to pull Diana a little closer towards him. He's still acting friendly, so I know she hasn't told him all of what happened between us. Otherwise I'm pretty sure he'd be swinging.

"I'm picking up my brother," I explain. "So you two.."

Paul grins. "Back together. Fantastic isn't it?"

"Fantastic," I echo. Diana just looks at me, dark eyes inscrutable. I kind of want to shake her, but that wouldn't be fair. It isn't like she's stepping out on me or anything. I told her I couldn't date her, and I don't think that was the wrong thing at all, but there's this feeling I can't quite name as I look at the two of them together. I exhale, trying to calm myself. "I'm happy for you."

"Thanks." Diana's voice is soft, and so is her smile. I feel my fists clench, but before I can deck Paul I spy Ponyboy coming out of the theater.

"There's my brother," I explain. "I guess I'll see you two around."

Diana cocks her head to the side, and I see her eyebrows shoot up. _I will_ , I think at her silently. Maybe I was a bit too hasty telling her we shouldn't see each other ever again. Because it's making me almost nauseous to watch her cozying up to Paul and, well, hell… I don't know. I just don't know.

I find Pony and walk towards my truck, but I can't stop myself from looking back. Diana is no longer looking at me, but Paul is. Even though we're across the street I can read his face as clearly as if he were here next to me: He's triumphant. He has Diana and I don't, and he thinks that's the end of it.

"Are you okay?" Ponyboy asks me, looking a little worried.

"I'm fine," I snap. And I am. Because there's nothing I enjoy so much as a challenge.


	11. Chapter 11

"I have to go," I say for probably the fifth time that night, as I try to push Paul off of me. He's much heavier and stronger than me as a general rule, and right then every ounce of his body seems devoted to pinning me to the backseat of his car.

Paul stops kissing for me for a second; a small miracle, considering that his mouth has been everywhere. He seems intent on devouring me in the two hours I told him we had between the end of my history class and the time I needed to be in the art studio. "It's not like it's a _class_ , Diana."

"It's _for_ a class," I point out, as his mouth returns to my neck. "I have to finish up everything on Thursday, because I have my critique on Friday."

"Mmm," Paul says. His mouth works its way lower, and I have to admit it's not altogether unpleasant. But I push his head away. "Come on, Paul. I have to go. My Dad said if don't start going to classes that he'll keep me under lock and key until graduation."

Paul laughs and sits up, the leather of his car's backseat creaking under the shift in weight. "I still think it's hilarious that your history professor actually called your dad."

I sit up too, combing through my hair with my fingers. "How was I supposed to know that Dr. Lewis actually knew my dad?" It still burns me up that my brief (albeit late) attempt at teenage rebellion was quashed so quickly. After my third absence in history, my professor reached out to his old friend, my father, and asked why I wasn't going to class. My father blew a gasket after finding out I hadn't been going to _any_ of my classes and promptly browbeat me into submission. The only thing I could console myself with was that some education was better than no education.

Paul kisses me again, but before it can get really interesting I pull away. He groans, his disappointment clear on his face.

"I'll make it up to you this weekend," I promise, buttoning my shirt. "We can drive out to the country, go stargazing, pick up where we left off…"

"Sounds fun." Paul brushes my hair back behind my ears and smiles down at me. "You need a ride home tonight? I can probably wait around for a little bit."

"No, my dad is coming to pick me up. He wants to make sure I'm actually where I say I am."

Another quick kiss and then I'm making my way across campus to the arts building and climbing the three flights of stairs to the studio. Joanie is there, as well as some other people from my class who've put off completing their work until the last minute. I pull my drawing and find a seat to work.

Soon enough I lose myself in the sketch. As much as I dislike being forced to major in art because my father can't figure out what to do with me during the awkward post-high school, pre-marriage phase, I have to admit I really do love it. Especially now that we're past our still life phase and can do things a bit differently. Currently I'm working on a drawing of a house.

"There," I say to no one in particular as I'm putting the finishing touches on a shutter. "I think that's good."

"I think so too," says a voice from behind me, making me jump. Darry drops down onto one of the little stools next to me: He's a big guy and so it looks funny, but I don't dare laugh. I'm too busy staring at him.

"What are you doing here?" I manage to say finally.

"I said I'd see you later," he points out. "It's later."

"You also said you'd call me, and looks how that turned out." I put down my little piece of charcoal and turn to him, frowning. "Really, what are you doing here?"

He has the grace to look abashed, or at least the tops of his ears turn red. "I had some time between jobs," he explains. "I figured I'd stop by and see if Thursdays were still your art day. Good to know you're still a procrastinator."

"Seems like you would have been better off taking a nap," I point out. "What are you doing now?"

"Stocking hardware shelves after hours. What kind of house is that?"

"A nice one, I hope," I joke. "Our professor said 'draw paradise' and this is what I've come up with."

"So paradise to you is a two-story brick house with a wrap around porch?"

I nod. "It's a criticism of the expectations facing middle class women forced into conforming to societal standards of what their paradise _should be_ versus what it may _actually_ be."

He stares at me. "Is that how you really feel or just something you're pulling out of your butt?"

"I like drawing houses, okay?" I don't want to tell a man who was forced to dropout of school that I'm angry that my daddy is forcing me to get a different degree than the one I want: I don't think there'd be much sympathy from that audience. "Besides, everyone knows art classes are one part skill and three parts bullsh… bull."

He grins. "It's a nice house. Good roof."

"Thanks."

He leans forward, touching my face gently with his hand. "You've got charcoal everywhere."

I was afraid of that. Sometimes when I leave drawing class I look like a common street urchin, or so my dad always informs me. But there isn't anything I can do about it now, so I don't say anything at all.

Eventually he drops his hand, but not as soon as he probably should. He talks to me, or rather he listens to me talk, for a little while longer, and then he's standing up and stretching out his limbs. Joanie and another girl eye him, and I can't blame them. I'm eyeing him too. He's always been very good looking and roofing houses is not hurting that at all.

"You got a ride home tonight?" He asks, looking down at me.

I nod. "My dad is coming for me."

He raises an eyebrow. "Not Paul?"

It's the first time either one of us have raised the specter of my boyfriend tonight. He probably wouldn't like me meeting with Darry like this, but nothing is going on. At least, that's what I tell the brief pang of guilt I feel. "Not Paul," I confirm.

"You two still together?" His tone is casual, but the way he looks at me makes me think he means it to be more than that.

"Yeah." I don't bother to explain myself to him. He did, after all, tell me he never wanted to see me again. I won't apologize for living my life without him.

"He looked happy that night at the movies," Darry says.

I don't know what he means by that, so I just shrug. "I'll walk you out," I say. I'm sure he can find the door all on his own, but I'm eager to spend as much time with him as possible. Besides, it will feel good to stretch my legs.

I walk him down the three flights of stairs. Every so often his hand brushes against mine, and I wonder if he thinks about taking it. But he doesn't, and when we reach the door we stare at each other for a minute before we both start to speak at the same time.

"Will you-"

"Can I-"

"You first," I say with a grin.

"Can I come sit with you again?" He asks.

"It's a public building," I point out. "I can't stop you. But I think I'd like that."

"What were you going to say?"

"I was going to ask if you'd come again," I confess. "If you can find the time."

"I think I can manage." He leans forward to kiss me, but I back away. I see the hurt reflected in his blue eyes only for a second before they're ice again. I don't know how to explain it, but it just feels wrong to kiss him here when only a short time ago it was Paul kissing me and Paul's hands on my body. It isn't that I think kissing Darry would be wrong, it's just that I don't want him to be the second one to do it. That makes no sense to me, and I don't even know where to begin to explain it to Darry.

"I… I'm sorry," I stutter in apology.

"No, don't be, it's my fault." He shoves his fists in his pockets and looks out at the parking lot. "I'll see you next week I guess."

He moves to push open the door, but I grab his arm. "I hope I do. See you next week, that is."

"I'll be here," he promises. He looks down at me, expression unreadable. "It was good seeing you again," he says finally.

"Paul and me… I didn't mean for it to happen." The words fall out of my mouth before I can stop them. "I was upset, and he was there. It's stupid." I bite my lip. "I really did think that I wasn't ever going to see you again."

"It was a stupid thing to tell you," Darry admits. But before I can process my shock that Darrel Curtis has admitted error, he adds, "but dating Paul again is just dumb."

I bristle at that, even though I myself just said it was stupid. "You're just jealous," I accuse.

"Yeah. I am." He admits it so matter of factly. "I hated seeing him with you."

I lower my eyes. The way he is looking at me is too much, I'm too used to seeing his blank face to be able to withstand so much emotion showing through now. "I didn't tell him anything about us."

"Wouldn't matter to me if you did."

"I didn't want him to get mad and try to, I don't know, beat you up or something."

Darry's loud shout of laughter echoes in the lobby. It's arrogant, but I can't say his confidence is misplaced. "Diana, the day I'm scared of Paul Holden ' _beating me up'_ is the day hell freezes over."

"I know. But I would feel bad if you hurt my boyfriend." In a fight between Darry and Paul my money would be on Darry every time: Darry has more to prove.

Darry checks his watch and swears under his breath. "Diana, I really gotta go."

"Sorry for keeping you. I guess I talk a lot, huh?"

"Yes. And I'm going to go before you start it up again." That makes me smile and this time I don't pull away when he leans down to kiss me on the forehead. "Good luck tomorrow. And try not to do anything too stupid, okay?"

I roll my eyes. "Likewise." And then he's gone.

I climb the stairs again, more slowly this time. While completely unexpected, his visit is very welcome. I can't pretend otherwise, not even when I think of Paul. Paul has been incredibly sweet and loving since we got back together, but whatever this thing I've got going on with Darry, it's gotten down deep into my very soul so that I'll never be completely happy until I know how we end.

"Is that the same guy from the bar?" Joanie asks me, speaking to me for the very first time since we went to the bar together.

I take my seat again, trying not to put too much thought into what just happened. It's like trying to build a dam using nothing but toothpicks, but I'm doing my best. "That's him."

"Are you two… together now?"

I shake my head. "No, we're just friends."

"Seemed like more than that to me," Joanie mutters. She waits around for a second, maybe waiting for me to elaborate further, but I don't say anything else. Eventually she walks away, leaving me to my own scrambled thoughts.

* * *

The rain is falling down in sheets, making the view from Paul's window a study in gray. The rain had spoiled some of our weekend plans but not all of them, which was why I was currently padding around Paul's bedroom wearing nothing but his t-shirt. His father was nowhere to be found and his mother was in the prison of her own mind, so if my dad thought there was any supervision over here he was dead wrong. Although who knows, maybe he thought the dry cleaning discount was worth the price of a daughter.

"Do you want something to eat?" Paul asks me, drawing me away from the window. "I can go get you something from downstairs if you'd like."

"Something to drink would be great," I admit. He smiles at me, a real smile that reveals the dimple he tries to hide because he thinks it makes him look weak, and leaves me alone in his room, this shrine to football.

I pretend that I'm just browsing the pictures to pass the time till Paul gets back, but I know exactly what I'm looking for. I find it taped to a wall near his closet, and I stop. Darrel Curtis stare out at me from a 5x7 black and white picture taken his senior year in high school. He's surrounded by his other teammates, but I only have eyes for him.

It's strange, I've grown so used to him looking tired and careworn that I forget that hasn't always been how he looked. Even back then he was more quiet and more serious than the other boys, but there was something in his face that let you know he was actually capable of smiling. I guess in a way the car accident killed more than just his parents: It also killed that boy in the picture, even if a man with the same name and face still exists.

"Here, I brought you a coke." Paul's voice startles me. I've been so lost in thought that I quite forgot I was in his room wearing his shirt and waiting on him to come back. "Everything okay?"

"Thanks." I take the bottle from him. It's already been opened and so I take a sip. "Just thinking about high school. It seems like such a long time ago."

"You haven't even been gone a year," Paul dismisses me. He glances at the picture and frowns. "We had some good times, I guess."

"Everything seemed so much easier then."

Paul takes a swig of his own coke, and looks at me. "What's on your mind, Diana?"

I shrug. "It's just, we had so much fun back in high school. You, me, and Darry."

"Oh yes, Darrel." Paul rolls his eyes. "He had the good boy act down pat back then, although it's wearing a bit thin now. He looked like a real hood when we ran into him at the theater."

I turn away from the picture and look at Paul, confused. "Good boy act? I don't know, I never thought it was an act."

Jealousy and suspicion are written all over Paul's face as he glares at Darry's picture. I know how he feels, how all of your senses can be screaming that something is going on, but how even up to the very moment of discovery you can't quite believe that someone you love would do that to you. If I were a better person I'm sure I'd feel guilty, but as it is I just want to know what he means about Darry.

"He always wanted to be one of us. A soc," he clarifies, as if I don't understand. "He'd have done anything to fit in. Anything."

Well I can understand that. I've accepted it now, but there was a time in my life where I would have given anything to belong to First Baptist or Second Presbyterian instead of Temple Israel. It's hard to go through life almost-but-not-quite fitting in.

"He really kissed our asses back then, you know?" The image of Darry as a suck up is hard to square with the tough, cool, assertive Darry I've always know, but I guess it's not entirely out of the realm of possibility. "I remember one time Calhoun, do you remember Cal?"

"I remember him." He'd been a real asshole, but he was a good fullback so everyone pretended to love him.

"Well Cal got drunk one night and wanted to go beat up Greasers."

I remember that Cal and Darry stopped getting along sometime their senior year, and I can guess where this is going. "So let me guess, Darry punched Cal or something?"

Paul laughs. "Of course not. He wanted to fit in, remember?"

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that we drove down to the East Side, found a random kid, and jumped him. And Darry helped us."

I stare. "That doesn't sound… he wouldn't…"

"Diana, I was there," Paul reminds me patiently. "It happened. I couldn't believe it myself. I'd never turn on my friends like that, but I guess there's no honor among Greasers."

"Don't feel too good about yourself," I snap. "Getting drunk and jumping someone isn't something you should brag about."

"I'm a Soc. It's like lions and antelope to me," Paul argues. He takes one more look at the picture on his wall, and then pulls it off and crumpled it up. "But anyway, like I said, Darry sure did have everyone fooled back then. I've got more stories, if you want to hear them."

I shake my head, unsure of what to think. I thought I knew Darry, but maybe all I've ever seen is the person I wanted him to be. "No, I don't want to hear any more."

"Suit yourself." He throws the crumpled up picture into his wastebasket, making it in one throw.

"You should have gone out for basketball instead of football." I try to sound light, like what he's just told me hasn't bothered me in the slightest, but I'm afraid my voice comes out rather shaky instead.

"I'm a man of many talents," Paul brags. "Come here and let me show you a few of them." I go, but the second he leaves the room I'm springing up from my back and rushing towards the wastebasket. I quickly pull out the picture and smooth it out before folding it up and sticking it in my purse.

If Paul thinks his little story about some mistake Darry made back in high school is going to be enough to scare me off, he's dead wrong.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Another long chapter after two shorter ones! Thank you to all who have reviewed this story so far, especially those anonymous reviewers I can't PM to thank personally. Let me know what you think of this chapter!**

It's all I can do not to visit Diana every single night of the week, but I make myself wait until Thursday. I don't want to look desperate. But as I'm climbing the stairs towards the art studio, I have to admit (just to myself) that I feel a bit desperate. I don't know why. I don't know when having Diana Hayes became a goal. Is it just to win against Paul? Is it because all my other plans and dreams turned to shit?

I reach the top of the stairs and enter the studio. It's much less crowded than it was last week, with only Joanie and Diana working on their pieces. Diana looks up when I enter. She smiles at me, and I realize that it doesn't matter why I want her. I just do. I want her so much that for a second I think about throwing her over my shoulder and carrying her off somewhere where Paul (or any other guy) will never find her.

 _That's pathetic_ , I think, irritated with myself for letting some girl get under my skin as badly as Diana has done. I drop down onto one of the little stools they make the art students use, muttering a quick "hey" at Diana. I might be losing every ounce of sense I've ever had, but she doesn't have to know it.

"Hi," she returns brightly. Then her brow furrows as she looks at me. "Are you okay?"

"Just tired." I force myself to relax a bit, having maybe overdone it with the irritation. It's hard, these seats are damned uncomfortable. For the first time in, well, ever I wish the school would spend a little less on the football team and maybe a bit more in the art department. "It's been a long week."

"You don't have to visit me." Diana puts down… whatever art thing she's using. It looks like a crayon to me, but that doesn't seem very artsy so it's probably something else. "You really should take a nap. You can't function if you're not sleeping."

Shit, that's all I need, her to start _nagging_ me. "I'm fine, Diana. Don't you want me here?"

"Gracious you're surly tonight," she says, pleasant as can be. "Of course I want you here."

I start to apologize. I've been nothing but a walking bad mood lately. It's a combination of stress and lack of sleep. I thought I could handle it, and I can because I _have_ to, but it's taking a toll. I'm trying to think of how to explain this to her, when I see something that sets me off again. "What the hell is that?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she lies. And I damn well know it's a lie because her hand flutters to her neck.

It's nothing for me to pry her hand away, and when I do there it is; a love bite, looking like a brand against the pallor of her neck. A glaring reminder that I'm messing around with someone else's girl, that I can sit with her for a little while on a Thursday night and talk to her, but that Friday through Wednesday she's doing God knows what with someone else. And maybe I'm reading way too much into it, but it sure as hell feels like a warning.

"Is Paul hurtin' you?" I ask. After all, I've never seen a single mark on her before today.

But Diana shakes her head. "Of course not. You know him. Do you think he'd ever?"

I don't. And it isn't that I want him to be hurting her or anything, it's just if he _had_ been I wouldn't be so much in the wrong here. As it is, I'm the idiot sitting on this God damned stool pissed because a guy I used to know got a little too rough with his girlfriend during sex. I touch the clean, unblemished side of her neck. _Maybe I should give her one on this side_ , I think, brushing over it with my thumb. _Send her back to Paul and let_ him _be the one who's pissed._ But of course, his anger would be completely justified. My own… not so much.

"When are you going to break up with him?" It comes out harshly, a demand instead of the pitiful plea it really is, thank God. I'm proud of myself for covering it up, but then I see the anger in Diana's eyes and I wonder if maybe being a little more pitiful would have been better.

"Let's get one thing straight, Darrel Curtis. You're not going to dictate to me what I do and when I do it. You said you never wanted to see me again. I accepted that. You're not going to bounce back into my life a couple of weeks later and tell me you were just kidding and expect me to drop everything and fall into your arms. It doesn't work like that." She picks up her little crayon again, and turns back to her paper, well and truly pissed.

I stand up from my stool so fast it tips over, the sound echoing around the almost empty studio. "That's not what I wanted," I say hotly, even though honestly it kind of was. "But you can't play both me and Paul. It doesn't work like _that_ either, Diana. You think Paul would like this?"

"You're right, I'm a terrible girlfriend. I guess you really dodged a bullet." She makes a few angry streaks of color across her paper, and I wonder what her professor will make of _that_ during critique.

"I guess so." I fold my arms, angry as all get out. "By the way, your drawing looks like _shit_. You can't even tell what it is."

"It's _abstract_ , you moron," she snarls at me, spinning around to face me. "Maybe you should leave."

"Maybe I should." And so I do.

* * *

"Darry, I think that cow is already dead. You can probably stop beating it now."

I look down at the ground beef I've been attempting to gently coax into a meatloaf shape, and by gently coaxing I mean I've been punching the hell out of it and now my hand hurts and what was once ground beef looks almost unrecognizable. "Just hand me the meatloaf pan," I order Soda.

He lopes over, sliding the pan down the counter towards me. And then he gives me a look and opens his mouth.

"Nothing's wrong," I say preemptively.

Soda blinks. "I was going to ask if you thought being nearly pulverized would affect the cookin' time. But what's wrong?"

"Nothing." I slam the ground beef down into the pan. I don't know if being nearly pulverized can affect the cooking time, but if Soda and Pony don't like it they can start cooking for themselves. I'd be more than happy to eat blue meatloaf as long as it's cooked by the time I get home. It's annoying having to come home from a long day at work and still have to cook before going back out to my second job.

"Sorry it wasn't done," Soda says, sensing the root of my frustration. "We lost track of time."

I snort. I'm disappointed, but not surprised, that I'm turning out to be the only member of what's left of our family with any sense of responsibility or the ability to read a clock. Between Soda and Pony I think I've heard every excuse in the book. The worst thing is that I know I used some of them back in the day myself, and I wish my mom were still here so I could tell her how sorry I was. I never realized how much she did until she wasn't there to do it anymore.

I swallow the sudden pain in my throat and examine the oven. Hopefully it will be finished in time for me to eat before work.

Soda just won't leave off. "So you stressed about the State comin' to visit tomorrow?"

"Shit." In my Diana induced cloud of anger, I had completely forgotten about the visit scheduled for tomorrow. I guess I'm not as responsible as I thought I was.

"You forgot?" Soda looks shocked, as well he might because it isn't like me to forget about stuff like that.

"It's on my calendar," I say defensively.

"I can't believe you forgot!" Soda studies my face. "So if it ain't the State, what…" he trails off, eyes lighting up. "Oh, it's your girl."

"She ain't my girl," I snap, and then realize I've made a terrible mistake. I should have stuck to not admitting I had a problem.

"Well why isn't she your girl? I thought you liked her."

I shrug."And it's complicated."

"You make everything complicated." Soda grins, and I have a moment of pure envy for my brother, to whom girls have always come easy. Not that it's hard for me to pick up girls, it isn't, but he understands them in a way I never have and probably never will. Girls like me, but they _flock_ to my brother. And part of that is because he just plain _gets_ them. He knows what makes them tick. "So what's the deal? Can't you just carry her off? Impress her with your brute strength? What's the point of having all those muscles if you can't use them when it counts?"

I refuse to respond to my brother's insipid suggestions. Besides, Diana isn't some girl from the east side. I doubt fighting would impress her. And after last night I doubt she'd so much as let me carry her out of a burning building. "She ain't my girl. She's got a boyfriend. Paul Holden."

"Wait, is this the same girl from high school? The cheerleader? The one you spent ages pinin' for?"

"I never… _pined."_ I growl at him. "That's stupid. She was Paul's girlfriend-"

"Sounds like she still is," Soda observes with a grin. "Besides, I ain't one to judge, but it seems to me there was one sticky page in your yearbook, and her picture was on it."

I punch him in the shoulder. Lightly. "You must be confusin' your yearbook with mine, little buddy."

"Nah, cheerleaders ain't my thing. Too stuck up." He gives me a knowing look. "Great asses though."

"That's the truth," I sigh, thinking of Diana's.

"What's the truth?" Ponyboy asks, wandering into the kitchen just in time to catch the tail end of our conversation.

"Nothing," I say.

"Darry's got a girlfriend," Soda says at the same time.

As usual, Ponyboy ignores what I've said and listens only to Soda. He looks at me a little awestruck, and I have to admit it feels good. "Really?" He asks.

"No."

He looks disappointed in me, and that I'm used to. "Oh."

"It's only a matter of time," Soda declares, with more confidence than I feel about the situation. "Right, Dar?"

"Sure." I roll my eyes. "Don't you have homework?"

"It's Friday," Ponyboy reminds me.

"Then go play outside." I'm thinking of his nightmares and the doctor's advice. Keeping him busy has seemed to help, but he still has them occasionally.

"I'm not _five_ , Darry," Ponyboy snaps back.

"Come on," Soda says, which is good because I can feel my temper rising again. "Let's go. Maybe we can play some ball in the lot or somethin'."

"Be back in an hour!" I holler, as the door slams shut.

Once they're gone I take a deep breath. I should probably clean up a bit before the State comes tomorrow but… screw it. I throw myself down into the recliner and close my eyes. Wherever she is right now, I hope Diana's happy that I'm finally taking a fucking nap.

* * *

Another week, another Thursday night. I'm a bit more at ease after a successful visit from the State, so I'm ready to eat crow if necessary. Even so, I circle the art building a few times before I finally park. I'm not nervous or anything, I just don't want to admit I was wrong.

To my surprise she meets me in the lobby. "Joanie said there was an angry looking man circling the parking lot in a pickup truck, and I figured it was either you or your evil twin," she explains coolly. But then the corner of her mouth trembles, and I know she's fighting not to smile. "Although now that I think about it, maybe you're the evil one."

I don't know what to say to that, so I just stand there feeling like an idiot. Finally I think to say, "I'm sorry I said your picture looked like shit."

"I'm sorry I called you a moron." She bites her lip and then before I know it, she's launching herself at me. Her arms wrap around my neck. "You were right about Paul though. I know I should break up with him, but it's just hard since he's being so nice to me and all. But I'm going to, I haven't seen him much this week or I'd have done it alrea-"

I kiss her, because if she doesn't stop talking we'll be here all night listening to her apologize. She kisses me back, and before I know it we're backed against a wall full of advertisements for gallery openings and poetry readings. I'm about to suggest that maybe we should take this out to my truck because I don't want to give all these art nerds a show, when a cough behind me stops.

"Am I interrupting?" Joanie's harsh voice cuts across my consciousness and I reluctantly let go of Diana.

"Not at all." Diana smooths her skirt down in what I recognize as a nervous gesture. "Did you need something?"

"I need to use the phone." She nods towards a payphone tucked in the corner.

"Come on," Diana tugs on my hand and leads me downstairs, away from both Joanie and the art studio. We end up in a darkened section of hallway near what I think is the photography lab. I'm eager to resume our previous activities, but _no_ , we have to talk first. She says, "I'm so glad you came back. I wasn't sure if you would or not."

You'd think at this point she'd know I can't stay away from her, but I shrug and try to hang on to a little shred of pride. "I wasn't sure if I would either."

"My dad won't be here till 10:30. Maybe we could run out and get a coke?" She suggests.

 _Or maybe we could just stay here and you could show me how much you missed me_ , is what I want to say. I'm absolutely sure it's what my brother the ladykiller would say. But out of my mouth comes a very lame, "okay."

She smiles up at me, beautiful and trusting. And just like that I'm glad I agreed.

Xx

I don't see them at first. I'm too distracted by Diana, hanging from my arm like ivy on the vine. But then Diana's grip on my arm tightens and she gasps. I look up. And there they are. The two guys Diana met at the bar that night. _Joanie must have called them_ , I think with irritation, and despite the fact that I would never, _ever_ hit a woman, I have to say it's awfully tempting to go back in there and slug Diana's former friend.

"We've got a score to settle with you," the taller one says, letting me know he's the leader here. His shorter friend looks a bit more frightened. I can tell by his eyes. He's trying to look tough, but once you've been in enough fights you get to know the look of a man who will turn tale and run after a few solid hits, and he's wearing that look right now.

Diana steps forward. "Gene, don't do this," she pleads. "Darry didn't do anything to you."

"I got a busted lip and a concussion that says he _did,_ " Gene says unfairly, since it was Hutch that hit him. He looks Diana up and down, and it's not a friendly look. "Don't worry sweetheart. Once we beat the shit out of Romeo here, we've got something for you too." He licks his lips as he looks at her, making it clear what he means.

I snatch Diana back towards me. Gene doesn't know it, but he just made an awful mistake. I would have whooped his ass before on general principle, but now he's pissed me off. No one threatens to rape my girl and walks away after. "Get in the car," I order Diana, handing her my keys. She looks like she might argue with me, so I add, "please."

She does it reluctantly, but finally she takes my keys and goes. I wait until I hear the slamming of the truck door, and then without waiting I slam my fist into Gene's nose. Blood spurts everywhere. Without waiting for him to recover, I slam my fist into his face again. Gene aims a halfhearted punch towards my eye, but I move and he ends up striking me on the cheek. It hurts, but probably not as much as the split lip I give him in return.

"Shit," the smaller one, Don, says as I beat his friend to a bloody pulp. I guess they thought two against one would be easy, but I've been fighting since I could close my fist so I'm no timid virgin when it comes to violence. They may hang around a rough crowd, but so do I. And I've got the muscle and the skill to back it up.

Finally Gene stops struggling. He's not unconscious, but he's damn near. I feel safe when I turn my back on him and look at Don. "You got somethin' you want to add?"

He shakes his head and I snort. I knew he was a coward when I saw him. Even now his eyes are wide and I bet his heart is just pounding away in his chest. He tries to scurry out of the way when I move towards him, but I catch him and bury my fist in his midsection. I haven't forgotten the way he tried to get Diana drunk and take advantage of her, and I especially haven't forgotten the way he put his hands on her body.

"The next time you get the bright idea to jump me, maybe you ought to reconsider," I say, as Don doubles over. "You come near me or my girl again and I'll make this look like nothin'. You got it?"

He gives a little moan of assent. And riding the wave of adrenaline I go in search of Diana and my truck.

* * *

"What the fuck was that?" Diana asks. Her voice is high pitches and almost hysterical. I think it might be the first time I've heard her swear. It's certainly the first time I've hear her say _that_ particular word, and maybe my east side hood is showing but I'll be damned if it isn't kind of a turn on. But before I can explore this new and exciting side of her, she really starts laying into me.

"What were you thinking?" She asks, as I back the car out of the parking space. "What in God's name were you thinking? You should have called the cops! What if they'd had a knife? What if they'd had a gun? You could have gotten seriously hurt!"

Honestly, I'm surprised they didn't have at least a piece of pipe, but that doesn't seem like the kind of thing to say to her right now so I stay quiet.

"What if the police showed up? What if they _go_ to the police? What happens to your brothers then, Darry? What then?"

I decide I've had enough of her ranting, so I pull into the high school parking lot. It's dark and deserted this time of night. I park over in a particularly dark corner and turn to look at her.

She's crying. And I don't mean a few tears are rolling down her face. She's sobbing. Her shoulders are heaving and her tears are coming hot and fast.

"Well, don't cry," I say, trying to be gentle. I turn the ignition off and pat her shoulder. She jerks away from me. "Diana, I don't want to fight with you."

"I was so worried for you," she chokes out. "I was worried they'd really hurt you or something."

It's been a while since anyone worried about me, I think. Not since my parents died. Worry is completely foreign to Soda, and it would never occur to Ponyboy to do something like that. I don't know how to react to this.

"You don't have to worry. I'm pretty good at fighting." I try to sound humble, but I don't think I quite manage it because she cuts me a dirty look. "I don't like hurting people, but I will." I'm not completely sure it's the truth, honestly. Because there's a small part of me that loves the adrenaline rush, the thrill of proving I'm better than someone else, the satisfaction of winning. "I have never backed down from a fight and I'm not about to start now," I finally say. It's about as much of an explanation as I can give her.

"You are impossible," she mutters. "Utterly impossible." But she must not mind too much because she slides over to me and climbs on my lap. She kisses me, and I notice that she's not crying anymore.

 _Impress her with your brute strength_. My brother's words pop back into my mind as I'm pulling off Diana's shirt, and I'd laugh if my mouth wasn't otherwise occupied. _Who knew,_ I muse as I throw Diana's shirt to the side, _who knew that'd actually work?_

* * *

I hold her afterwards, running my hands up and down her smooth back. Her head is on my chest. It feels good. It feels damn good _._

"I'm going to take you out," I tell her. "On a proper date."

"I'd like that." She shivers a little, but she doesn't ask me to give her a shirt and I don't offer. I like feeling her like this too much to end it willingly.

"Break up with Paul." It's a demand, but a more gentle one this time.

"Okay."

"Just like that? Okay?"

"It's either that or continue to cheat on him again. Because I don't plan to stop this."

"Me neither," I say finally. And it feels better than any fight or football game I've ever won. "Me neither."


	13. Chapter 13

Carlo's Italian Ristorante is one of the fanciest restaurants in Tulsa. They specialize in proms and anniversaries, and I've never been inside when I wasn't celebrating one or the other. I had no idea why Paul had chosen to bring us here on a seemingly random Friday night, but as he led me through the maze of tables I had a sinking feeling in my stomach that this night was important to Paul in some way. It was important to me too, but probably not for the same reason. After all, I was planning to break up with him and he was planning, well, I didn't know yet what he was planning but the hairs on the back of my neck were standing up and every instinct I had was telling me to run.

Our table was in the back, located in a spot where the dim light of the restaurant didn't quite fully extend and the candle the waiter lit for us actually made a difference in visibility. Lucy always swears that candlelight is a woman's _best_ light, but I've never quite liked it: Candlelit dinners always made me feel like I should be covering my eyes and saying the Shabbat blessings. Still, the candlelight does give a certain ambience, and maybe it takes some of the edge off the nervous smile I flash at Paul as the waiter departs and leaves us to our own devices.

Paul returns the smile, dimple on full display. "You look beautiful," he says.

"Thank you." I open the menu for lack of anything better to do, and almost die at the prices listed inside. It's too much for a random date. I should have broken up with him on the way here, but I was too cowardly. Maybe I can do it now. "Paul, I-"

"I want you to get whatever you want, Diana." Paul reaches across the table for me, and I reluctantly take his hand. He gives my hand a squeeze. "This is a very important night."

His words send another trill of fear through my heart, but I try to think logically. What is important about tonight? It's neither one of our birthdays, it isn't our anniversary, we don't have prom anymore, and it isn't even football season so we can't be celebrating any victories. I have no idea what he means and that's starting to scare me.

"What's tonight?" I finally break down and ask.

He just smiles more widely. "You'll see."

I swallow and my throat is so dry it's almost painful. "I really wish you'd tell me."

Paul looks over at me, and for a second I think maybe he is about to break, but the waiter comes back to take our order and the moment is gone.

Paul orders first because as usual he knows what he wants while I have no idea. I hurriedly scan the menu, but by the time the waiter turns to me and asks "and what would _you_ like?" I have no answer, although several things flit through my mind: _I want to know what's going on. I want this night to be over with. I want to go home._

"Fettucine alfredo," I say, simply because that's what I see when I look down.

"Is everything okay?" Paul asks when the waiter leaves again. Concern fills his blue eyes. "I thought this would make you happy."

I take a deep breath. "I think we really need to talk."

Paul leans forward, candlelight reflecting off his blonde hair. His blue eyes are warm, and for a second I think instead of Darry's blue eyes, colder and more greenish than Paul's but infinitely preferable right then. "I think so too."

"Okay," I say, uncertainty making me frown. "You go first."

"Alright." He takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his short blonde hair. "That's one of the things I like best about you, babe. You're always direct. There's no guessing when I'm with you." He reaches for my hand again.

 _If only you knew_ , I think, nausea beginning to bubble up in my stomach. Somehow this does not sound like a breakup speech. I smile weakly as he takes my hand.

"You know how much I love you, right?" I nod. "I know I haven't always been the best guy to you, but those days are behind me. My brother always told me that when you know, you know… and, well, I guess with you I know."

"Know what, exactly?" I ask somewhat stupidly, but it's hard to think just then with panic setting in.

"That you're the one for me. The _only_ one for me." He fumbles around with his pocket for a second, and then withdraws a small black box. My eyes widen, because I'm absolutely sure this is not a parting gift. "It took almost losing you to make me see it, but now I get it. I really do. So how 'bout it, babe? Will you marry me?"

 _This can't be happening_. The room closes in on me, the very _world_ closes in on me. Everything I don't want is encompassed in one silver circle, the diamond winking up at me like it's somehow in on this colossal joke. Absolute terror makes it hard to breathe, but somehow I manage to make my mouth form the word, "Paul." I might go further, say what I have to say, but Paul catches something of the fear on my face and rushes to explain himself.

"I know it's sudden, but we've been dating for a few years now. Of course we'll wait to get married until you're out of school. I know that's important to you. But there isn't any harm in just being _engaged_ now." For the first time he starts to look nervous. "I love you, Diana. I can't imagine wanting to spend my life with anyone else. So are you in?"

"I… I can't." I gasp, trying to force air into my lungs. "I just… I can't."

And then I get up and run, leaving him there holding ring and looking very confused.

* * *

"Diana, get in the car." It's Paul. "Come on, you can't walk home from here. And I'm not that big of a jerk that I'm not going to drive you home."

I look over at him. He's pulled over to the side of the road to talk to me, and when I chance a glance at his face he doesn't even look angry.

I can breathe easier now that I'm outside, but I still don't want to marry him.

He gives me a sad smile. "We don't even have to talk about it unless you want to. You can't just go walking through the city. You're not dressed for it, for one thing."

He's right. I know he's right. So I walk back towards the car and get in. On the passenger seat is a foam container.

"I got your food to go," Paul explains.

"I am so, _so_ sorry."

He shrugs. "Well I guess I did kind of spring it on you, didn't I? Maybe we should talk about it some more."

"I think we should break up." The truth spills out of mouth before I can stop it.

His eyes widen, but he tries to laugh. "Well I want to get married and you want to break up. It seems to me that there's a lot of middle ground there. Why don't we get some ice cream and discuss it?"

"I don't want any ice cream," I say, but he ignores me and pulls into the Tastee Freeze.

Once we have hot fudge sundaes he turns back to me. "So, why are we breaking up?"

It was much easier to break up with him the first time. I discovered him with Miriam, shouted "we're through" loud enough that the entire University of Tulsa football team knew what had happened without Paul having to explain, and that was that. But this time I'm indisputably the one in the wrong and for some reason the words just won't come. I hide my face in my hands. I wish he'd stop being so nice to me. If he would just get angry I could get angry too, and then I wouldn't have to struggle with all of this guilt.

Like me, Paul's mind goes back to that first incident. "You know I'm not messing around on you again, right?" he asks. "Come on, Diana. Look at me. I know I really blew it before, but I haven't so much as _looked_ at another girl since we got back together. I was a jerk, I know I was. I didn't realize what I had till I almost lost it, but I will never be that stupid again. You've got to believe me-"

"I do." I finally manage to look at him, and it just makes me feel worse. He looks so _earnest._ "I do believe you Paul."

"Okay." He thinks for a second. I can see his shoulders rise and fall with every breath he takes. "Is there someone else for _you?_ "

"Yes." My voice cracks.

"Is it that guy you dated while we were broken up?"

"No, of course not." I frown. I'm pretty sure Darry turned him into a puddle of goo in the parking lot last night, so the fact that Paul brings him up now is startling. But then I freeze, remembering Darry and last night…

"Darrel," Paul says, echoing my thoughts so neatly I jump a little. "It's him, isn't it?"

"Yeah." My voice is barely a whisper, and I look down at the ice cream slowly melting in my lap. "I'm sorry."

"How far has it gone?"

"Paul…"

"So he's slept with you then." Paul bangs his fist against the steering wheel. "You know, I knew deep down he always hated me, but I never knew he hated me _this_ much."

"It doesn't have anything to do with you!" I protest.

Paul gives me a look like he doesn't quite believe me, but then he takes my hand in his. "Diana, listen. We're even now. I cheated on you, you cheated on me. We can get past this, we can move on. I love you. We both made mistakes-"

"See, that's the thing." I pull my hand back. "I don't really think Darry was a mistake."

"Are you really breaking up with me for some… _greaser?_ You can't be serious. God, Diana. Tell me this is some sort of joke. Diana, babe, _please_."

"It's not a joke, Paul. I'm so sorry, I never wanted to hurt you-"

"He's not _like_ us, Diana," Paul breaks in. "You don't understand. But it isn't just the side of town he's from. He might walk like us, and talk like us, but in the end he's just white trash like everyone else from the east side. He doesn't even play _football_ anymore, so it's not like you're shacking up with the star quarterback. He's nothing but a college dropout-"

"Don't," I warn him. "Don't talk about him like that."

Paul looks angry, but then his eyes soften and he reaches for me. I let him pull me close, let him him touch my face, and the very familiarity of his touch momentarily weakens my resolve. Wouldn't it just be easier to give in? To just be who Paul wants, be who my dad wants… that would be so much easier than this.

As if he can sense my weakness, he goes in for the kill. "Babe, come on. Don't do this. I love you. I know you're mad at me, but don't ruin your life over it. Whatever you want me to do, I'll do it. Just tell me what you need."

I really wasn't expecting this, this concerted effort to win me back. I had thought once he found out I had slept with Darry that he'd be too angry to even look at me any more. My throat burns with unshed tears, and finally I drop my head and just let them go.

Paul's hand creeps under my shirt, but instead of copping a feel like he might have done in days gone by, he just rubs my back. It's the very opposite of comforting, and I wish he'd stop. "Diana, he's just trying to get even with me because I have everything he wants. Don't let him use you like this. Come on, babe. It's you and me. Just you and me."

I take a deep, albeit shaky, breath. It would be easier to give in, but I'm done with easy. "No, Paul. It's not anymore."

Paul drops his hand. "So this is it then?"

"Yeah." I thought I would be happier than this. Now there's nothing standing in the way of me and Darry being together, but I wasn't thinking about the cost to other people, the cost all too readily apparent in the way Paul's shoulders slump over now and the lost expression on his face. He looks like he might cry, and the realization brings new tears to my eyes. "I'm sorry. I really am."

"I loved you," he says thickly. His nose twitches and he looks away. "I really loved you Diana."

I squeeze his hand for the last time. "I loved you too."

* * *

"You're home early," my dad starts, sounding pleased when I come home a full hour before expected.

True to his word, Paul did drive me home. I cried the whole way back to my house while Paul clutched the steering wheel, stony faced and silent. It was such a relief to get out of the car, although the relief fades a bit as I face both of my parents' expectant faces.

"What's wrong?" My mother asks, taking in my tear stained face. "Did you and Paul have a fight?"

"We broke up," I explain. "He asked me to marry him-"

"He did _what?"_ My Dad's voice rises, and for a brief, glorious second I think maybe he's finally coming around to my way of thinking, but then he says, "he could have asked me for permission first!" And I realize that it's all about control to him.

I burst into a fresh round of tears. "I said no."

"Of course you did," my mother soothes. She pats the couch. "Sit down, love. _Slattery's People_ is about to come on."

I sit down between my parents, trying to focus on the boring political drama that my dad loves. But my brain is going a million miles a minute, thinking about Paul and marriage and me. It takes me a few second to realize that my dad is talking to me, and it takes me another second to realize I should probably listen.

"... did the right thing," he's saying, arm around me. "I've heard things about his dad that I don't like."

"What things?" My mom, ever loving of gossip, asks.

"Things I shouldn't repeat," my father says sternly, and I know he's probably talking about the maid. My mother looks nonplussed, knowing full well my dad will tell her as soon as I'm off to bed. "But Paul has probably learned a lot of his bad behavior at home."

I feel like I should defend Paul, but since he did cheat on me I don't really have a leg to stand on. Still I say, "Paul wasn't that bad."

"I think you can do better," my father assures me, which is funny because he loved Paul when we were together. I feel a sudden rush of affection for my father for taking my side in this. Honestly I'd kind of assumed he'd be mad I blew the chance to marry someone so wealthy. He kisses the top of my head. "You're a pretty girl, Diana. There's no reason to settle for the first guy who comes along."

For the first time I wonder what my parents will make of Darry.

* * *

When I hear the rocks at my window later that night, I fully expect it to be Paul. It's 3 a.m. and he's probably drunk and angry. He's had all night to stew over my betrayal and I've had all night to stew over my guilt. I'm ready to take whatever punishment he's come to dish out. I can't pretend I don't deserve it. But when I open the shade it's Darry's face that stares back at me.

"Is this okay?" He asks, crawling through the open window. "Paul told me he used to do this, and I wanted to see you again, so I figured what the hell. I was in the neighborhood anyway. You okay?"

I don't think I've ever heard him talk so quickly or say so much in one sentence before. And I don't buy that he's just swinging by because he was in the neighborhood. I cross my arms. "You're checking to make sure Paul isn't here."

He shoves his hands in his pockets and just gives me a blank look. But once he sees I'm not angry some of the tension goes out of him. "Maybe," he admits. "I know he used to take you out and then sneak back to see you. I figured if anyone could worm his way back into your heart it'd be him."

"Don't you have any faith in me?" I ask, slightly hurt. "I said I'd break up with him, didn't I?"

He shrugs and doesn't answer. His large frame makes my small room feel even smaller, and the way he looks over my possessions makes me feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with the clothes I'm wearing. My room feels too young and girlish all of a sudden. _I_ feel too young and girlish. He works two jobs and has custody of two teenage boys: I still have a curfew and sleep with my stuffed rabbit Ferdinand. For a second I feel just like a kid next to him. What could he possibly be doing with me?

As he roams my room, running a large hand over Ferdinand himself, a wave of self-doubt and anxiety washes over me. I haven't felt this way since he was the star quarterback and I was a gawky kid fresh out of junior high. I take a deep breath and try to pull myself together.

"I've never been in your room before," he says needlessly. As if I didn't know that. "It's not what I was expectin'."

"What were you expecting?" I ask, curious to know how exactly his impression of me differs from my reality.

He runs a finger over my books. "I always figured you for one of those girls with a canopy bed and posters of Elvis on your wall."

"Elvis? Hardly. My father thinks he's vulgar." Finally I clear my throat and say, "I did break up with him, in case you were wondering."

"Oh yeah?" Darry spins around, no longer bothering to feign interest in my decor. "How'd he take it?"

I close my eyes. The whole thing still feels surreal. "Well considering he had just proposed to me, not well." Darry laughs. I put my hands on my hips. "I'm glad _you_ find it funny."

"Sorry, but that's just like Paul to screw around on you when he had you, but the second you pull away he wants to get hitched." The smile falls from his face and he looks at me with a serious expression. "Diana, you're making really big decisions here. Paul's the smarter choice. You know that, don't you? Anyone with a lick of sense would-"

"Well if you don't want me anymore…" I trail off.

He sinks down on my bed and, after a minute, I join him. "You just don't know what you're getting into," he warns. "It's not like I'm the hotshot quarterback of the football team anymore. I'm nothing now. I've got _nothing._ This is it. This is my life now. I'm going nowhere fast for the next few years."

I look at him, and it seems strange to me that both his and Paul's thoughts should be so aligned. "You're not _nothing_." I say hotly. "And besides, I don't want Paul, I want you."

He stretches out his hand and I take it. It's a simple, touching moment that ends suddenly when Darry's eyes narrow. "Diana, whose shirt is that?"

"Mine," I say, but then I fold under his intense stare and admit, "Paul's, but-"

"But nothing. Take it off before I take it off for you."

"You just want to see me naked," I tease, but before I can say anything else Darry reaches over and tugs the shirt off over my head. I start to shriek, but stop just in time; my parents are still sleeping and this is not how I'd like Darry to meet them. Instead I fold my arms over my breasts and try to look stern. "That was unnecessary."

"I disagree." He stands up, crumpled up t-shirt in his hands.

"Are you leaving?"

"Yes." He looks angry but then he leans down and kisses me. "I've got to go give Paul his shirt back. I'll see you Thursday?"

 _He's joking_ , I tell myself. _He's only joking._ But deep down I'm not so sure. "I'll be there."

"Great." He throws one leg out of my window and then looks up suddenly. "I'll take you out next Saturday. A movie?"

I shiver, the cold air making goosebumps on my flesh. "Sounds good. You're not really going to Paul's, are you?"

"Dunno. I'll decide on the way home." He gives me a real solemn look. "You should find a shirt, Diana. You look cold." And then he's gone.

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you to anyone who continues to read, and a big thank you to those who choose to review! I'm honestly so thrilled that there are actual real live people reading something that I wrote just for my own personal amusement, and I hope you're are enjoying it as much as I enjoy writing it.**


	14. Chapter 14

I throw the frying pan into the sink and try not to enjoy the wince my youngest brother makes in response.

"God," he moans, clutching his temples. He puts his head down on the kitchen table. "Darry can't you stop that."

"Nope," I reply, utterly unsympathetic. "You think it's funny to go out drinkin', you can deal with the consequences."

Soda leans down and whispers something into Ponyboy's ear. I miss whatever it is he says, but I sure don't miss the glare Soda aims at me over Ponyboy's head. It pisses me off, because if there's one thing Soda should be on my side about, it's Ponyboy's drinking habits. The kid can't go out and get drunk just because it's Friday night. I shouldn't even have to explain that.

Except apparently I do, because when I turn to leave the room Soda follows behind me. "We are not talking about this," I snap before Soda can start defending his pet. "And it'd be nice if you were on my side about this. _Jesus Christ_ , he came home completely plastered. You think he wouldn't have gotten locked up if he'd come across a cop? And then what, huh? Strait into a boys home."

Soda shuts the door behind him, crossing his arms. My brother's temper isn't like mine. He hardly has any temper to speak of, but when he does explode it's usually because someone is picking on Ponyboy.

"What the hell are you doing?" Soda asks, eyes blazing. "Can't you just be a little bit nicer to him? He's just a kid!"

"He ought to know better," I hiss. I slam the dresser drawer shut. "He's supposed to be smart, isn't he? Why the hell can't he figure out that it ain't a good idea to go out with Curly Shepard? Shit, I guess at least they're not burning holes in each other again. Now _that_ was a dumb idea."

"Right, 'cause you never did anything stupid." Soda's eyes bore into mine and I'm wondering what exactly he knows. I did party pretty hard in high school, but most nights I went to Paul's to sleep it off. And the State wasn't on our case then, so it was completely different. Soda's eyes narrow. "Maybe it's not the fact that he's drinking, but the people he's drinking with."

"You're right, I don't like my kid brothers hangin' around Curly Shepard. Or Tim." I fix Soda with a glare, just in case he thinks I don't know what he gets up to when he leaves the house.

"What, you think we're better than them?"

"None of us have been locked up, have we?"

Soda pauses. "But we sure as hell have been hauled in, ain't we Dar?"

I can't even look at him while I finish buttoning my shirt. "You know as well as I do that we have a helluva lot more to lose now."

"Darry," Soda says gently, apparently realizing that throwing my past sins at me isn't going to do him any favors. "You know you aren't the only one whose parents died. Ponyboy don't know what to do either."

"You think he went out and got drunk 'cause of what happened to Mom and Dad?" I ask incredulously. "Don't peddle me that crap, Soda, because I'm not buyin' it."

"I'm sayin' that he don't know how to act now that you're not just his brother anymore." Soda takes a deep breath. "Don't ask me why, but the kid used to think you were kind of cool. He don't know how to act now that you're breathing down his neck. Mom and Dad never treated any of us like that."

I think about that. It's true, Mom and Dad loved us but they were never really hard on us. They demanded we respect them and they never let us run wild or anything, but they never cared much about doing homework, or our grades, or where we were so long as we were back by midnight. Maybe I am being harder on him than Mom and Dad were, maybe it is the first time in his life anyone's ever been hard on him.

And maybe the reason I'm hard on him has nothing to do with Ponyboy at all. Maybe it's like I told Diana, that doing right by him is the only thing I have left. If I screw this up then I really am nothing, and giving up my football career and working these shit jobs was all for nothing. I can't let him fail because then I'm a failure.

"I can't let him go out drinking, Soda. I've got to ground him or something."

Soda nods. "I get it. I'll talk to him. I'm just askin' you not to be an asshole about it."

"You promise you'll talk to him?" I ask. I'm jealous of their bond, but I know Pony will listen to Soda.

Soda nods. "Sure. I don't drink, do I? He'll listen to me."

Now that I think about it, Soda _doesn't_ drink. I have never once seen him so much as sip a beer. I always thought that I was the only one who noticed Dad's drinking, who noticed the way he treated Mom, but maybe there are things I didn't notice myself. "Soda…"

Soda shakes his head and looks away. "I ain't blind," is all he says. He looks away for a second, rubs his eyes, and then says in a lighter voice. "So how late you workin' tonight?"

"Till five," I say. "But you're gonna have to look after Pony tonight. I've got a date."

* * *

"Where are you going?" Ponyboy, apparently feeling better, asks me later that evening.

I'm standing in the living room, freshly showered and shaved, ironing the nicest shirt I own. I hope Diana likes it, because she's going to be seeing a lot of it. "To the gym," I say sarcastically. But it's lost on Ponyboy, who just nods and accepts it. I glance at Soda, who is sitting on the couch with Steve. Soda tries not to laugh. I shake my head and look again at my youngest brother. "You know you're grounded right?"

Pony looks at his feet. "Yeah, I know. For a week."

I try not to look surprised. Soda must have told him a week, which means Soda must have been angrier than he let on. It's so goddam irritating when Soda does that. If he's pissed he should let me know and we could be pissed together, but as it is I'm the one who always has to be the bad guy while Soda gets to be Pony's best friend. I swallow my resentment, focusing on making smooth, clean lines in the shirt I'm ironing. I'm meeting Diana's parents tonight and I don't want to be in a bad mood when I get there. I've already got so many strikes against me that it'll be a miracle if they don't slam the door in my face. I can't exactly blame them. What sane parents would pick a college dropout from the East Side for their daughter? Even I've tried to talk some sense into Diana.

Thank God it hasn't worked.

"So who's the broad?" Steve asks me when Ponyboy takes a Pepsi and goes to sit on the porch to smoke a cigarette. "Anyone we know?"

"Nah," Soda says before I can open my mouth. "Darry ain't goin' out with any of the greasy girls 'round here, he's got himself a real Soc."

"She ain't a Soc," I mumble, turning the iron off.

"Who ain't a Soc?" Dallas Winston is one of the last people I want to see tonight, and yet there he is in my doorway, flanked by Two-Bit Mathews. He looks ready for a fight at the word Soc, but then again he always looks ready for a fight.

"The girl Darry's bagged," Steve supplies.

All eyes turn in my direction.

"So are Soc girls any different in the sack?" Two-Bit asks, looking curious.

"Yeah," Dallas snorts. "She got some kind of magic cunt that makes you forget where you come from?"

There's a sudden tension in the room, because while all of us shoot the shit with each other and talk crudely about the girls we like and don't know, you don't use those kinds of words when you're talking about a buddy's girl. You just don't. But Dally has always been the one guy who ever had a problem with me trying to make something of myself. He's always considered me a traitor for buddying around with Paul Holden and his kind, so if he's talking dirty now it's on purpose.

And it almost works. Because I've wanted to put Dallas in his place for a long time. He's crazy as shit and a pretty good fighter, but I _think_ I could take him. But Diana's parents are waiting, and if I show up with a bloody nose and busted knuckles, I'm pretty sure I can kiss goodbye to any shot I have at being her boyfriend.

"One of these days Darry's gonna break your nose," Steve observes.

"And don't think I won't help," Soda warns.

Dally shrugs, looking unconcerned. "He can try."

 _One day_ , I promise myself. _One day_. I pull my shirt on. It's still warm from the iron. "I got better things to do tonight." I turn to Soda. "Remember, Ponyboy's not allowed out of this house. And make him do his math homework. I'll check it when I get home."

Soda salutes me, and then I'm off. I promised Diana I wouldn't be late, and it's a promise I'm all too happy to keep.

* * *

"Darry! Darry!" Someone shakes me. It's real gentle, so I know it can't be one of my brothers, but I'm confused as hell when I open my eyes and Diana Hayes is staring down at me looking none to pleased. And then, in one horrifying moment, I realize what must have happened.

"Um, wow, good movie," I offer.

She raises her eyebrows. "You were _snoring_."

I wince. "I'm sorry. I've had a long day."

Her face softens. "I know."

I get to my feet, stretching as I do so. I'm not lying to her, I did have a long day. And I'm sore as hell. Every muscle in my body screams at me for cramming myself into that seat for the past ninety minutes, and somehow I've woken up feeling even worse than I did when I passed out. I want nothing more than to go home and sleep for the next few days, but it's my first date with Diana and I've already pretty much blown it. I glance at my watch. I've got an hour before I have to have her home. Maybe I can salvage this.

"We've got some time left," I say as we walk out of the theater and into the cool night air. It's getting warmer outside, but it's still chilly at night. It's as good an excuse as any to put my arm around Diana. "We can go do something else."

"I think it'll look better if you have me home ahead of schedule, don't you?" And then she grins and says teasingly. "Besides, I know what your 'something else' most likely is, and I am _not_ the kind of girl who puts out on the very first date, thank you very much."

We reach my truck and I open the car door for her. "Shoot, if I had know that I would have let you keep dating Paul."

I mean it as a joke, but as soon as it's out of my mouth I feel kind of bad. She gives a little laugh, but I can tell she doesn't really think it's funny. I realize how this night must look to Diana: I went to sleep within the first five minutes of the movie and now she thinks I'm complaining because she won't put out. It looks bad. So I lean into the truck and kiss her.

"Come on, Diana. You know there was no way I was going to let you keep dating him." She rolls her eyes at me. "And I promise, no more movie dates."

She looks slightly mollified for the moment, so I run around to my side of the truck and start the car. "How was the movie?" I figure if someone asks I should at least be informed.

She starts rambling on about the movie, and even though I'm supposed to be listening my thoughts keep wandering off. For one thing, Diana has a lot to say about the movie and I was just sort of hoping for a rough overview; for another, as she's talking and waving her arms around her skirt is creeping up her leg.

I shake my head, trying not to stare. You'd think I was some thirteen year old virgin the way I'm acting. It was the same back in high school too, when she'd roll up her cheerleading skirt and prance around like she had no clue what she was doing. I followed her around like some stray dog looking for a bone. Looking back, it's a wonder that the first time Paul ever took a swing a me was the night I returned his shirt.

You'd think now it'd be no big deal. I've had sex with her a few times. She's not… forbidden anymore. I had thought that was part of her appeal, that once I could touch her and whatnot I wouldn't be as preoccupied with her as I used to be. But I was wrong. I think it's made things worse.

"You're frowning," Diana's voice finally breaks into my consciousness. "Did I say something wrong?"

It's hard to say, considering I don't know what exactly she was saying. "Of course not. I'm just… worried about meeting your dad." He wasn't home when I went to pick up Diana, something about an emergency at work.

It's a lie, but it wins me a lot of sympathy as Diana scoots closer and puts her hand on my arm. "Don't worry about it. Meeting my mom went okay, didn't it?"

It didn't. I don't think I've ever made a woman cry just by knocking on the door before, but Diana's mom looked damn close. "If you say so."

"They let me out of the house, didn't they?" I don't say anything, so she nudges my shoulder. "It's my opinion you have to worry about, and I like you just fine."

"Even after I fell asleep on our first date?"

"Sure, I got to eat all the popcorn." She rests her head on my shoulder. "Are you having second thoughts?"

"Not about you." And it's true. Diana just feels _right_. But it's the timing and circumstances that are off. Still, I can't stand the idea of someone else having her so I'll make it work. "You?"

"Not at all."

She leaves her head on my shoulder while I make the turn to her house. As expected, her dad's Buick is in the driveway and I know I've got one more hurdle to jump tonight. I pull in front of the house, turn the car off, and give Diana a quick kiss. "Just in case your dad comes after me with a shotgun and I have to leave real quick," I joke.

I walk her to the door, absolutely positive that her dad is watching out the window. That's what I do when Ponyboy stays out late, and I'm sure I didn't invent it or anything. I try to look like a nice guy, the kind you'd let date your teenage daughter, not the kind who has sex with her on your couch while you're out of town.

I'm right about him watching us through the window, because as soon as we reach the porch he clings open the door. No goodnight kissing on _his_ watch I guess. He's still dressed in what I guess are work clothes and he's holding a tumbler full of what I think is at first some sort of alcohol but I realize after a second is just orange juice.

"You're early," he notes, and I think for a second I see a flicker of approval in his eyes.

"The movie ended, he drove me back right away." Diana smiles at her father, and I can tell she's used to getting her way with him. "He takes rules almost as seriously as _you_ do."

"Are you going to introduce me?" He asks. He turns dark eyes, just like Diana's, onto me.

"Dad, this is Darrel Curtis. Darry, this is my Dad."

I stick out my hand, and he shakes it. "It's nice to meet you." _I'm nice, I'm polite, I've never seen your couch before_.

"Likewise." His gaze flicks back to Diana. "Why don't you say goodnight and then go get ready for bed. I'm going to have a quick conversation with Darrel."

"Yes sir." She gives me a small smile and then she's gone, leaving me alone with her dad.

"So." He crosses his arms. "How old are you, son?"

It's been a long time since anyone has called me son. I bristle at it a bit. I'm not just some _kid_ , damn it. I work full time and pay a mortgage and do all sorts of things that Paul Holden has never even dreamed about doing. "I turned twenty in January, sir," I answer him, trying to keep my irritation to myself. I'm sure he's just doing his job, being as thorough as I would be if I had sisters.

Sisters. The thought makes me almost nauseous. There's the silver lining in my shitty situation. As girly as Ponyboy is, I don't have any actual sisters to worry about.

"And you go to school with my daughter?"

"I dropped out." No use beating around the bush. I'm sure Diana has already told him everything. "I work."

"Two jobs, Diana tells me. I understand you have custody of your brothers?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hmm. You want to tell me about getting arrested when you were seventeen?"

I lift my chin up. _Goodbye, Diana_. "Not really."

To my surprise he laughs. "Come on, sit down." He waves me over to the infamous couch and sits down beside me. "I had to ask. I know the charges were dropped. And I know the police just drive through your neighborhood looking for people to haul in, whether they've actually committed crimes or not. It's a fine thing you're doing for your brothers. I called your boss, he's got nothing but good things to say about you."

I'm a little impressed he called my boss. I never would have thought about it. I file that away, just in case I need to use it with one of my brothers. "I'm glad to hear it, sir."

The laughter fades from his face and he looks real serious again. "Now I'll be honest with you, Darrel. My wife and I had some qualms about letting our daughter date you, but I've been parenting Diana long enough to know if I tell her not to see you it'll just add to your appeal. So we're going to allow this, but I have some rules that I need you to agree to."

"Rules?"

He ticks them off one by one on his fingers. "Curfew is at eleven. That's non negotiable. Have car trouble on your own time. School is her first priority, so don't distract her from it. If her grades drop, I'll make sure you don't see her again. I don't want my daughter anywhere dangerous. And I don't want her interacting with anyone of a… questionable nature. Can I trust you to use your best judgement on those last two?"

For a moment I'm offended. What sort of people does he think I buddy around with? But then I think of the people I do buddy around with, and I think he might have a point. Most of the guys I know are pretty harmless, but then you have guys like Dallas Winston and Tim Shepard. I don't want Diana near anyone like that either. "Yes, sir."

"And one more thing. This has nothing to do with the side of town you're from, so don't take it like that. Diana is not to go to your house. At all. Not with your folks out of the picture, got it?"

My dad bought me my first box of condoms when I turned fourteen and high fived me six months later when I finally used them, so I'm not sure how them being in the picture would help protect Diana's virtue. But I let it go. "Absolutely."

He reaches out to shake my hand again. "I know I probably seem overprotective, but my daughter is the most important thing in the world to me."

I shake his hand and stand up. "She's pretty important to me too, Mr. Hayes."

He smiles thinly, getting to his feet as well. "How old are your brothers?"

"Sixteen and thirteen."

"Then you'll understand soon enough, if you don't already, how teenagers can be. You have to be firm. If you give an inch they'll take a mile."

I don't know if it's true or not, but it's the most parenting advice anyone has ever offered me, so I take it. "Yes, sir."

He sighs then and looks down the hallway after Diana, and for a second he looks just as confused by his daughter as I am about my brothers. I feel a pang of fear. I've been waiting for the day when I wake up and know what to do, the day it all get easier, but maybe it never does. Maybe you're always just sort of feeling your way around in the dark, hoping you're not completely screwing it up. Maybe my parents felt just as lost and confused as I do. Maybe they were just making it up as they went along, the same as I am.

I'm not sure how I feel as I say goodbye to Mr. Hayes and walk out the door. But the weight on my shoulders feels a little lighter. Maybe I'm not doing so badly after all.

* * *

"How'd it go?"

"Jesus Christ!" I jump, nearly hitting my head on the roof of the truck. As it is, I manage to drop the keys on the floor. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

Diana smiles at me, scooting closer. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to say a _proper_ goodbye."

And just like that all the parental responsibility I was feeling flies from my brain and all I can see is Diana, half naked and smiling up at me. "You're gonna get me shot," I mutter. I kiss her anyway. "Your dad just got done layin' down the law, and now here you are trying to get me in trouble."

"Mmm. Were you really arrested?"

I freeze, hand halfway up her shirt. "Yes."

"For what?"

"Ask your dad." My tone is rather sharp, but I can't help it. I don't want to discuss it with her. Not now, not ever.

"I'm asking _you_."

I pull my hands out from under her shirt, no longer quite so in the mood. "I'm not talking about it."

"Okay." She kisses me again, and even if I'm not quite so into it anymore I kiss her back.

Finally I can't stand it anymore, and I pull away. "I broke all the windows on Greg Calhoun's brand new car. And I slashed his tires."

"He deserved it," she says heatedly, and I wonder what Cal did to piss her off. But then she cocks her head to the side. "But why would they drop the charges if you were actually guilty?"

"Paul told them he did it." Which is the real reason I don't want to talk about it with her. Call me crazy, but it makes me feel kind of rotten to sit here with my hands on Diana's tits and think about the times he was a good friend to me. "They let me go and Paul's dad made the charges disappear."

"Oh. That was decent of him." She bites her lip and looks out the window. Now the mood is gone for both of us. She slides off my lap. "I guess I'd better go back inside." She doesn't look at me.

"Yeah." She moves to leave, and I can't stop myself from calling out her name. But when she turns to look at me, I can't get the words out. There's so much I want to say, so many things I want to tell her. If I could, I'd tell her that she looked beautiful tonight. That I'm sorry I went to sleep on her. That she should go back to Paul, only not really because even if he looks better on paper I will never spend a second taking her for granted. That I already can't stand the thought of losing her, of not having her in my life. But in the end all I say is, "sleep well."

"Drive safe," she returns. And then she's gone.

For a brief second I think about running after her and pouring out my heart, but that ain't me. Instead I retrieve the keys and drive home.


	15. Chapter 15

It isn't easy, dating someone you barely see.

I'm not complaining. Darry warned me, I knew what I was getting into, but it has been harder than I thought getting used to this. Even our Thursdays were sacrificed, a victim of the warmer temperatures and near constant rainfall that has overtaken the city. Lots of people suddenly discovering their roofs don't work means extra work (and money) for Darry, and I'm happy for him. It's what he wants, it's what he needs… I just miss him.

"I really like this guy," my father teases. It's another Friday night and instead of going out, I'm at home doing the dishes. "I never have to see him and you're always home."

I roll my eyes. I know my dad means well, and I'm certainly glad my dad has taken so well to him, but I haven't gone anywhere in weeks. Not even school, because classes ended last week. My exams were a breeze: with nothing else to distract me, I studied like I've never studied before. I made straight A's and my dad just laughed and said I should have started dating Darry years ago.

As if he can sense I'm thinking about him, the phone rings. He might not be able to see me, but he's usually pretty good about calling me. I look at my dad, who gives me a nod, and then pull my hands out of the soapy water. I dry them off on a dish towel and snatch the phone off of the wall. My dad, giving his ultimate seal of approval to Darry, actually leaves the room to give me some privacy.

"How are you?" Darry asks. Just the sound of his voice, exhausted and gravelly, makes me feel guilty for even entertaining discontented thoughts. Because I'm not discontent, not really, at least not when I'm with him. It's just when we're apart that I have my doubts.

"I'm okay." I twirl the phone cord around my fingers. "How's work?"

"Busy," he says. "You sure you're okay, Diana?"

"Yeah, I mean why wouldn't I be?" I try to smile and then realize he can't see me so it doesn't matter. "You're the one who's been working nonstop for the last few weeks."

"Yeah." He doesn't sound happy.

"So have you missed me?"

I mean it teasingly, trying to flirt with him, but he sounds exasperated when he says, "I wouldn't call you if I didn't, Diana."

I try again. "Lucy's home."

"Is she?" He sounds bored with me.

I bite my lip. Maybe my topics of conversation are too childish for him. I try yet again, trying to remember what was on the news this evening, and using my best adult voice say, "I heard a bunch of people got hurt in New York when the roof of a supermarket collapsed."

"What?" Now he just sounds confused. "That's… that's horrible." But he doesn't say anything else so clearly he doesn't want to discuss current events with me. I'm racking my brain trying to think of some sports factoid I can relay (and wishing dearly that it was at least football season) when he sighs and says in a much milder tone, "I'm sorry. I'm not my best tonight. Works been crazy and my brother-" he breaks off, not even bothering to tell me which brother is driving him bonkers.

"It's okay." I try to sound as cheerful as I can. "I get it."

"Thanks. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Oh, I won't be here." I say. I shift my weight from one foot to another. "Lucy and I are going to some party Teddy's throwing-"

"A party?" He sounds more interested in that than anything I've said all night, and I think maybe I should have just led with that.

"Yeah. Teddy just rented a place and he's throwing a huge party to celebrate-"

"Uh huh. And who's goin' to this party?"

"I don't know. I didn't ask for a guest list." I'm surprised that he's taking so much interest in this party, but then something occurs to me. "Wait, if you have a problem with me going just say so."

"There's no problem," he says in a tone which implies there very much is a problem and I'm an idiot for not realizing it sooner. "Have fun."

"Well we could talk about it," I suggest, but my suggestion is heard only by the dial tone because my boyfriend has hung up on me.

Feeling about as deflated as an old balloon , I hang up the phone and go back to the dishes. After a few minutes, I finish up and go join my parents in the living room. It's another part of my nightly routine, watching television with my parents until it's time for bed. My mother knits; sometimes I sketch. It's the kind of wholesome family scene that delights my dad but leaves me chafing.

There has to be more than this to my life. There just has to be or I'll go mad from the banality of it all.

"How's Darrel?" My father asks, playing the part of benevolent father figure to the hilt.

I sit down beside my mom and pick up a sketchbook I've left lying on the coffee table. "He's fine." I draw a line and then pause. Because he isn't fine, and I'm not fine. _He hung up on me_. It really never occurred to me he'd have a problem with me going off without him, but clearly I misjudged him. "Actually we had a bit of a disagreement tonight, but I'm sure it'll all work out."

"Just be patient with him," my father advises, and even though it's sensible advice it's irritating all the same. It would have been so much easier if my dad had hated him. But no, it's truly been a meeting of unimaginative, overprotective minds between them, with Darry eagerly acquiescing to every rule my dad sets.

"I'm trying." And even though I mean it about Darry, it occurs to me that that applies to a lot of things about my life.

I'm just going to have to try harder, that's all.

* * *

3 a.m. The witching hour. Or, as it may start to be known in the parts of Tulsa encompassing my bedroom, the Darrel Curtis hour. I haven't been able to sleep so the light taps don't even wake me up, but still I don't immediately hop out of bed to go let him in.

The more I've thought about our disagreement, the angrier I've gotten and I'm not feeling particularly welcoming. Only when the light taps become more solid and thus more audible do I get out of bed. I don't think Darry would break the window and let himself in but… actually that's exactly what I think he'd do. I finally get up, hiding Ferdinand the Rabbit under the covers as I do. He doesn't need to see any of this.

"Can I help you?" I ask frostily, raising the window just enough to talk to him.

"Let me in," he replies tersely. "We need to talk."

I cross my arms. "We could have talked on the phone."

"Let me in, Diana. I'm not going to stand here and play games with you."

I push the window up and he heaves himself through it, wincing.

Concern makes me forget the anger I'm holding on to. "Are you hurt?"

"I pulled somethin'-"

"Climbing through the window?"

"Yes, Diana. I roof houses and lift boxes all day and night, but climbing through your window absolutely does me in." He rolls his eyes and lowers himself onto my bed, sitting right on Ferdinand.

 _Ferdinand!_ I want to make Darry move, but Darry is looking at me like he's going to start yelling any second. And I know between the two of them at least Ferdinand will forgive me. And then too there's the fact that Darry looks terrible and I'd be awfully heartless to make him move.

"If you're here to apologize you should get started," I tell him. "You look beat."

He crosses his arms. "What makes you think I'm gonna apologize?"

"Because you're in the wrong," I explain patiently. "You hung up on me. You didn't even give me a chance to explain."

He holds his arms out to me and after a second I go into them. He smells like tar, and sweat, and sawdust and I wish he'd just apologize already so I could kiss him, but he stands firm and so do I.

At least, I stand firm for a second. Maybe two. And then I press my lips to his and some of the tension he's been holding in his shoulders melts away.

"This isn't working," I say, meaning him kissing me isn't working. It's not making me forget that I'm angry and need an apology. But when he pulls away I can tell by his face he thinks I mean the relationship isn't working.

"It _is_ working." He holds me firmly by the shoulders. "Don't you dare say that. We're going to make it work. Got it? Now if you want to go to this stupid party, then go."

"It's not a big deal," I protest.

He reaches into his back pocket and holds out a clenched fist. "Here, this is for you."

I hold out my hand, and he drops his high school ring into my open palm. It's gold and heavy and the last time I saw it his girlfriend at the time was flinging it off into the dry river bed and swearing she never wanted to see him again. "You found it," I say, examining the lump of gold metal. I slip it onto my finger where it slides around. "Gee whiz, your hands are huge."

"Yeah," he looks down at my hand. "Sorry it's only high school."

"It doesn't matter." The ring twists around and almost slides off. "I'll probably have to wear it on a chain or something."

"I don't care where you wear it so long as all those guys at the party know you've got a boyfriend." His voice is cold and bitter, but the expression on his face never changes.

I study his face, taking in the tightness of his mouth, the bags under his icy blue eyes, the unnatural pallor of his skin. He's changed since high school, that much is certain, yet I never thought he'd lose the confidence he had back then. But then I think of what Paul told me about Darry back in high school, about how eager and desperate he was to fit in, and I wonder if maybe all that confidence and arrogance was just a mask he's gotten tired of wearing.

"I-" _I love you_ is what I start to say, but it's much too soon for that. Besides, everyone knows the guy has to say it first. It's one of society's unwritten rules. So I swallow it back and rush to say something, anything, to cover for myself. "I don't think you have to worry about me. Not like that, I mean."

"Diana, you're a pretty girl. I hardly see you. There's not a soul on Earth who would blame you for runnin' off with the first guy who asks you to dinner. Hell, even I'd understand."

 _But I love you_ , is what I want to say. I push it back down yet again and bury my face into his shoulder. His arms close around me. "I'm not running off with anyone," I promise, voice a little wobbly.

"Okay." His arms are tight around me. "I should go."

He leaves through the window, grimacing on his way out the same as he did on his way in. _He works too hard_ , I think. Guilt gnaws at me. He doesn't need my bullshit, not one bit.

Feeling guilty even for my very existence, I retrieve Ferdinand from under the sheets. He's been slightly flattened, but otherwise he's none the worse for wear. He looks at me with a strange benevolence in his black beady eyes, and I think to myself that Ferdinand approves of me. Ferdinand thinks everything is going to be okay.

It's my last coherent thought before I finally drift off to sleep, Darry's heavy class ring still on my finger.

* * *

The next evening finds me back in my kitchen. Instead of answering a phone call I'm preparing to make one, dialing the number I know by heart, my fingers shaking as I rotate from one number to the next.

"Hello?" I've never talked to Darry's youngest brother before, but the voice that answers must be him. He sounds young, younger even than thirteen, and I muse how the difference of only five years can make thirteen sound so young.

"Is Darrel there?"

I hear him call for Darry, and there's a second of silence before Darry's picks up the phone. "Hello?" He asks, his voice deeper on the phone than in person.

"Hey. It's me. Diana." I announce. It's hopefully a little needless since I think by now he should know the sounds of my voice, but I'm nervous for reasons I can't quite name.

"Diana. I thought you had plans tonight."

"I'm not going."

He exhales just a bit. "I'm glad to hear it. Real glad."

"I thought you might be."

"Diana, I-" Whatever he is about to say is lost as I hear a loud bang on his end, and then a few shouts of laughter. "Goddamnit," he swears. "Diana, I gotta go." And once more I'm left listening to the dial tone as he hangs up.

I put the phone back on the receiver and pad back out to the living room to join my parents yet again. But this time I'm less restless, less unhappy. I pick up my sketchbook and stare at the line I made last night, and it seems as good a metaphor as any for my life. I could define it as the line between childhood and adulthood, but that line is still a little hazy, so I think a better defining point might be before and after Darry. I don't know what's going to happen to us, but I don't think anything will be the same for me ever again. His ring weighs heavy against my neck, suspended there with a small gold chain my dad gave me years ago for Hanukkah.

"No plans tonight?" My dad asks, genuinely surprised but unmistakably pleased.

"No." I flip over to a new page in my sketchbook, thinking of Darry's fatigue. I think of the way he works his fingers to the bone to keep what's left of his family together. I think of his pulled muscles, his utter selflessness, his dogged determination, and I know there are worse things in the world than spending a quiet Saturday night at home with my parents.

There are much worse things.

* * *

"You missed a great party last night."

It's Sunday morning and Lucy and I are hanging out in Lucy's backyard for what we've dubbed Tennis Sundays. Not that Lucy has a tennis court in her backyard or anything; we just like to put on our short tennis whites and drink the mimosas that Lucy's housekeeper makes for us. Now that Lucy is home and the weather is warm, Tennis Sunday's have resumed.

"I'm sure I didn't miss much. Same people I've known forever drinking the same beer they always drink and doing the same things they always do when they're drunk. I'm _so_ uninterested in that now."

Lucy shrugs. "Well you were missed. Paul was there. He kept running his mouth about Darry until someone told him to shut up. It may have been me, but I don't remember."

I smile weakly, sipping at my mimosa. I hadn't considered that Paul would be there, and I wonder if that's why Darry didn't want me there. "Paul can say whatever he wants. It doesn't matter to me anymore, and I doubt very much it matters to Darry."

Lucy leans forward, studying my face. "Are you happy?"

"Yes."

"I don't get it."

"Well I don't get Jimmy either, but you two are getting hitched and everything."

"I guess that's true," Lucy muses. "We're moving the wedding up."

"What?"

Lucy grins. "August. I'm not going back to school."

She seems happy enough, but just the thought of leaving school to get married is enough to send shivers of fear down my spine. Still, I'll be glad to have her around.

Lucy leans forward and touches the ring around my neck. "You and Darrel sure are moving quickly, aren't you?"

"I don't think so." I fight the urge to pull away from Lucy's overly inquisitive gaze. "I'm quite happy with the pace we're setting."

"Well I couldn't do it." Lucy tilts her head, studying my face. "You hardly ever see him, do you?"

My hand grabs the ring around my neck, knocking Lucy's hand out of the way. "I see him enough."

Lucy falls silent, but then she sits back in her chair and takes another sip of her mimosa. "You know Henry will be home soon."

"I do know that. I'm supposed to be working with him." I refuse to say _for_ him.

"Yeah, you'll be seeing quite a lot of _him_ then." Another sip of her drink and then Lucy says casually, "Henry really seemed to like you when we were in Colorado."

"That was just to make Paul angry. Henry's barely aware that I'm a girl."

"You used to have a crush on him," Lucy reminds me.

"I was _twelve._ " I frown at her. "I like Darry, don't you?"

"I liked him back in high school. He seems different now. It's unsettling."

"Unsettling?" I echo. "How so?"

"I can't explain it. It's the way he looks at you, all hot and cold at the same time. I've never seen anything like it."

"The only time you've seen us together since high school was in Colorado," I remind her. "That's hardly enough to form an opinion."

Lucy slides a pair of dark sunglasses on so that I can no longer see her eyes. "I guess." She pauses for a minute, and then she's off chattering about things that I don't even care about, things I don't think she cares much about either.

I lie back in the chair and listen to her talk. I've known Lucy almost my entire life. I thought I knew her as well as I know myself, but now I'm feeling for all the world like that line I drew in my sketchbook now hovers between the both of us.

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you so much if you've read this far! I've outlined this story for roughly thirty chapters, so that means we're now halfway to the end! I realize this isn't the most exciting chapter in that nothing much happens, but it's an important chapter nevertheless. Thank you so much to anyone who choses to read and review!**


	16. Chapter 16

"What's for dinner?" Ponyboy asks, throwing his books down on the kitchen table.

I look up from the pot of leftovers I'm attempting to turn into a soup, and I'm tempted to say something smart, but I stop myself just in time. "Roast."

Ponyboy wrinkles his nose, and even though I know he wants to ask why we're having that for supper again he doesn't. And I'm damn thankful for it. I've got the night off and I want to spend it sprawled out on the couch watching whatever shit they're showing on tv these days, not snipping back and forth with him.

"How was school?" I ask. He rifles through the ice box, most likely looking for some milk.

He shrugs. "Okay I guess."

"Only a few more weeks left, huh?"

"Yeah."

Jesus, it's like pulling teeth with him. I try again. "So you worried about starting high school next year?"

"No."

"It's a big transition."

He pulls out the milk and sets it on the table. "I know." I watch him as he stirs in the chocolate powder. As usual, I think he adds too much but I don't say anything. "Can I go visit Soda at work?"

"Don't you have homework?"

He gives me a look like I've lost my damn mind. "It's _Friday_. I'll do it Sunday."

 _You'll do it when I damn well tell you to do it_ , is what I want to reply. But I swallow it along with half a dozen other smartass remarks. I figure that Soda was right when he said Ponyboy doesn't know how to adjust to me being the guardian: Hell, it's an adjustment for me too. But being the bossy one surely comes easier than being the one who listens, so I've been trying to cut him some slack, to go easy on him. So I find myself nodding.

He gives me a smile, a rare one now though they never used to be, and darts out the door. I'm half tempted to follow him, spend some time shootin' the shit at the DX with my brothers and Steve, but it's nice to have some alone time. To just take a second and breathe.

Ponyboy slams the door when he leave, but after that the house is quiet. Almost eerily so. I look into the pot and sigh. It's rather pitiful looking. I'm doing my best, but cooking ain't exactly my specialty. I follow directions okay, but nothing turns out like I remember it turning out for my mom. _Oh well_ , I tell myself. At least it's the right color for soup.

I put it on a low simmer and leave it alone to let the vegetables cook down. I don't know what to do with myself, now that I've got some free time. For a second I think I ought to call Diana, but then I check my watch and realize she's probably still at work. Jealousy, hot and burning, ignites in the pit of my stomach and it's only with some difficulty that I swallow it down. I'm not exactly thrilled about her working long hours with Henry Abernathy, but I know a job is a job. And I _trust_ Diana. I do.

I wonder if Paul trusted her too?

I stamp out the thought almost as quickly as I think it, just like I always do, feeling a little sick to have even had it in the first place. I trust Diana and that's all there is to it. Irritated with myself, I take a seat in the armchair intent on finishing the newspaper I abandoned earlier in the day.

 _Soup_. My eyes pop open. I don't know how long I've been out, but the sun is now going down. I hurry out of the armchair sure that I've managed to burn the house down, but even though the soup is boiling a little higher than it needs to, it's okay. Thank God for small favors, I guess.

But, and here I turn to the doorway with a frown, where the heck are my brothers? Soda should have gotten off a half hour ago. It doesn't take that long to get from the DX to our house. It just doesn't. A million 'what ifs' spark in my mind, threatening to engulf me. But I take a deep breath and stumble forward, swinging open the front door and gazing out into the encroaching darkness. The cool air calms me, puts out the flames of uncertainty that have sprung up in my mind this evening, allows me to think.

I finally spot them down by the lot with Steve. Relief makes me angry and I rush over there, ready to really lay into them for making me worry so much. Just when I'm about to start yelling, I skid to a sudden halt.

It takes my brain a few minutes to make sense of what I'm seeing. For a second I think they're gathered around a trash bag or something, and since that's not even the strangest thing my brothers have done I don't care much. They're both alive and well and that's all that matters. But then the trash bag moans and flips over and I realize that it isn't a trash bag at all.

It's Johnny.

"Jesus Christ." I'm no stranger to violence, but this is bad. This is real bad. His face is so bloody and swollen that he's recognizable only by the clothes I saw him wearing earlier.

Two-Bit is suddenly beside me. I look over at him, wondering if I look as bad as he does. Even Dally (where did Dally come from?) looks sickened at the sight. _Ponyboy shouldn't be here_ , I think, and then my blood runs cold. _Ponyboy could have been out here. They could have killed Johnny. They could kill Ponyboy_.

"Ponyboy's fine," Two Bit says, and I want to snap that I know that, that I can see him right there, but then I realize I must have spoken my worst fears out loud.

I take a deep breath. _Get a grip. Think_. I'm supposed to be the one with the cool head, and if I go to pieces we're fucked. I don't want to get any closer but I do, coming up behind Sodapop as he speaks to Johnny in low comforting tones and touching him on the elbow.

"Let's move him out of the lot."

Soda gives a curt nod. "Johnnycake, Darry's gonna lift you up and take you back to the house okay? He'll try not to hurt you."

It's the last words that give me pause. Not that I intend to hurt him, of course I don't, but he could have broken bones, or cracked ribs, or any dozen of injuries that could make moving him a really stupid idea. But then Soda gives me a real stern look and I know exactly what he's thinking, that Johnny needs a doctor bad. But none of us can afford one now, so we'll just have to do our best.

My stomach turns as I look at Johnny's face. But I lift him and we slowly make our way across the street like some greaser funeral cortège, Dally's steady stream of curses ringing in our ears in lieu of the wails of the chief mourner.

Ponyboy rushes to clear the sofa off, for once in his life thinking about someone other than himself. I set Johnny down as gently down as I can, but he still groans and turns white.

"Sorry, he manages to say. "Sorry to be so much trouble."

It's just like Johnny to apologize for being jumped, and the rush of hatred I feel finds a safe target for the moment with his parents. If they had any sort of decency Johnny could have been home with them instead of out in the lot and this never would have happened. It's unreal to me that the State is breathing down my neck every ten seconds, but they treat Johnny any which way they like.

"Go get the first aid kit," I order Pony, and he looks grateful to have something to do. "Two-Bit, go get some aspirin. It's in the kitchen. Bring some water too. Dally-"

Dally looks up and I can see the pain in his eyes turn to anger. Well hell, I've been there before. But the way he looks at me promises confrontation. I lift my chin. I'm ready. But first we need to worry about Johnny.

We get him cleaned up as best we can, but there's only so much I can do with a first aid kit and knowledge gleaned from a lifetime of sports injuries and patching up busted knuckles. "He needs a doctor," I say out loud, to no one in particular.

"Yeah, you got some secret stash of cash?" Dally asks snidely. He exhales pure smoke and lets out a string of curse words. "Maybe get a loan from that little rich girl you're fucking?"

I open my mouth to say something in reply, but Soda leans forward and hisses, "This ain't helpin' him. Both of you need to quit."

I grit my teeth, knowing my brother is right. Dally looks away, but I know he's only done for a moment, that all that anger and helplessness he's feeling needs a target. And it looks like tonight I'm it.

"So you didn't hear a thing, huh?" He asks, accosting me in the kitchen later, when Johnny has drifted off into a fitful sleep and I'm washing my hands. The stew I was cooking is still on the stove, long since forgotten because none of us can even think of swallowing any food right now. "No yelling or nothin'. It happened right down the street from you and you didn't hear a thing?"

 _I guess we're doing this right now_ , I think wearily. "What are you tryin' to say, Dallas? You don't think if I'd have heard I'd have gone out to help him?"

On time when I was very young and hunting with my dad, a cougar stalked us. I remember the way its body moved through the woods, vibrating with deadly energy. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as the large beast moved parallel to us, hiding just out of sight, and even as young as I was I knew I was in danger. It's the same feeling I get now, watching Dallas look at me.

His eyes are full of hatred. Maybe for me, maybe for Socs, maybe for the whole wide world. I don't know. "You know what? I _don't_ think you woulda helped him. Maybe they were your buddies out there, doin' the jumping. You ain't one of us, are you? You ain't got an ounce of loyalty to your own kind."

The words leave me as winded as any punch he could've thrown at me. Because it reminds me of another Spring day, another boy who got the shit kicked out of him for fun, and the inescapable fact that Dally's right. I ain't got much loyalty to the greasers, but I sure as shit wouldn't have let that happen to Johnny.

"You shut your goddamn mouth." Soda's voice is harsh and angry, and I know without looking at him that his eyes are blazing and he's ready to fight. And then he says with more confidence than I'm feeling myself, "my brother ain't no traitor."

"You gonna let your kid brother do your fightin' for you?" Dally taunts.

"Don't do this today," Two-Bit says wearily. The others must have followed us into the tiny kitchen, whether to give Johnny privacy or because they can sense conflict I don't know. "C'mon Dal."

Dallas looks around at all of us. The only one who looks eager to fight is Soda. Two-Bit won't meet his eyes and Steve looks bored. Only Ponyboy looks interested in what's happening, but he makes no move in either mine or Dally's direction. " _Fuck_ you," Dally says. "Fuck _all_ of you." And he storms out into the night, slamming the door behind him.

Four sets of eyes turn to me. And as usual I've got nothing. Nothing but an overwhelming urge to run. "I'm going to get more aspirin. Maybe some gauze."

No one argues. And so I leave through the same door Dally left through, speeding off into the darkness towards God knows what.

* * *

That's a lie. Of course I know where I'm going. And fifteen minutes later I'm pounding on her front door praying to God that she's home and that I don't look half as crazy as I'm feeling right now.

She opens the door, and my first thought is that if my friends could see her they'd never believe that she wasn't a Soc. Because _goddamn_ does she ever clean up like one. She's wearing some fancy dress and a diamond necklace, and I can tell she's going somewhere I can't afford even in my wildest dreams.

"Darry!" She smiles up at me, surprised but pleased.

"Hot date tonight?" God help me if she says yes. The whole damn West Side is going up in flames and me right along with it.

But she laughs, a little tinkle of pure joy that lets me know she has absolutely no idea how close I am to eruption right now. "Only with my parents. We were going out tonight. Is everything okay?"

I swallow hard. "I need you," I confess. "I need to see you tonight."

Her eyes widen and she studies my face. "Okay. Let me talk to my parents."

She leaves me standing out on her porch, but when she comes back she's wearing a yellow dress I remember from high school and my ring around her neck. She looks like _my_ Diana again, which calms me down and makes me feel a little less desperate and raw. I help her into my truck and then I drive.

It's funny, I never knew Diana could be so quiet. But as I drive to God knows where, she sits there not saying a word, just glancing over at me every so often. Finally I get tired of driving and I pull over into a park, dark and abandoned this time of night. I turn the car off, slump over the steering wheel.

"Fuck," I mutter. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"What's wrong?" Diana finally asks.

I don't answer. "Come here." I hold my arms out to her. And even though I know I'm coming off like a madman, she comes to me. I hold on to her so tightly, wishing I could just drown myself in her innocence and sweetness. Or maybe I've got it wrong, maybe I'm already drowning and she's the only thing keeping me afloat. I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. Maybe I never did.

"Darry, please. You're worrying me. What's going on? Is it one of your brothers?"

"A friend of mine was jumped tonight. It's bad. It's so bad, Diana."

"I'm sorry." She leans her head against my chest. "That's awful."

She doesn't know the half of it. "It is. I've never seen anyone hurt so badly." And I find myself telling her about Johnny, about his home life. And because I can't shut up tonight I tell her about Dally, I tell her about how he hates me. The words are pouring out of me faster than I can think about them, until I've told her just about everything but what's really bothering me.

But somehow, _somehow_ she knows anyway. She presses a hand to my cheek and lets her fingers trail down my face. "Is this about what happened between you, Paul, and Cal?"

"Jesus. Who the hell told you that?" She just looks at me, because of course it's a stupid question. "Paul told you. Damn it. How long have you known?"

"A couple of months." So he kept my secrets just until I horned in on his girl, which is about as fair a shake as I deserve I guess. "He said it was mostly Cal's fault."

I don't know if Paul said that or if it's Diana editorializing in her head, but either way I have to set the record straight. "That's not how it happened." She raises her brows. "It was Cal's idea, sure. But I'm the one who went along with him. Even Paul told him to go fuck himself, but I said I was fine with it." I close my eyes, like I can see back to that night all those years ago. "I didn't even know him. He was just a kid. Dally's right. I am a fuckin' traitor." I ball my hand up into a fist, ram it into the side of the old truck again and again.

Diana grabs my fist. "Stop it." Her eyes are big and I wonder if I'm scaring her. I guess those Soc boys she's used to don't have tempers like mine. I can try and cover it with that icy cold veneer I learned when I was trying to be one of them, but scratch the surface and I'm just the same greasy trash I've always been.

"Cal held him for me," I tell her. "Paul didn't touch him. Every bruise on that kid came from me."

"You were just a kid yourself," Diana protests.

I shake my head. "I knew it was wrong. I did it anyway."

"But you wouldn't do it again, would you? So you learned from it."

I stare at her. "Diana, have you ever seen somebody who's had the shit kicked out of them? D'you know what they look like after?" She shakes her head. And even though I want to tell her, to make her understand, I also need to protect her a little. "You give me too much credit."

"And you don't give yourself enough." She slides across me, straddling me. "I wish… I wish you wouldn't do this to yourself. Does it make anything better? You were just a kid trying to fit in. You don't make a habit of jumping innocent kids. And your friend Dally is an… an _asshole_." She glares at me, like she's daring me to disagree with her. But I honestly can't argue with that assessment. She continues, "if you were a jerk in a past life, then you've more than made up for it by now. Besides, the fact that you're this upset over one kid must mean that you didn't make it a habit. He was the only one, wasn't he?"

Reluctantly, I nod. "Yeah, but-"

"But _nothing_. Don't be silly. You're not the one who hurt Johnny. You had nothing to do with it. Wouldn't you have gone out there if you'd known?"

"Of course."

"Then you're not a traitor. No matter what happened back in high school."

She's wrong, but I don't see the point in arguing any further with her. Besides, in some weird way she has actually made me feel better. Maybe it's just having talked about it out loud. For all her talking, Diana is actually a pretty good listener too. And as I look at her, straddling my lap with the moon shining through the windows and illuminating her hair and skin, I let one more confession slip. "You're so beautiful." She draws back a little, blushing. I laugh nervously. "Oh come on, you've heard that before."

"Not from you," she says pointedly.

I open my mouth to let her know I've thought it a lot, but instead I notice the time. "Diana, it's 10:45. I'm never going to get you home in time. Your dad is going to _kill_ me."

"No he isn't. I've got a new curfew. Midnight."

For a second I'm confused, but then it dawns on me. There's a reason she was so dressed up tonight, a reason she was having a special dinner with her parents… "I am the worst boyfriend in the world."

"Don't start that again," Diana orders, rolling her eyes. "Besides, my actual birthday is on Sunday. We're still on for then, aren't we?"

I nod. "Yeah, but… I really ought to have let you go out with your parents tonight."

She shakes her head. "Please believe me, this is _exactly_ where I want to be right now." And she leans down and kisses me.

That's all it takes for me to decide how exactly we're going to spend the remainder of our time tonight. Fumbling with our clothes for only a moment, I finally grab her hips and thrust upwards, losing myself in the softness of her body and drowning out my own thoughts with her little moans of pleasure. It's great, but there's a part of me that wishes I'd thought of it before I opened my mouth. Because with every word I say, with every confession I give her, she's going to look at me a little different. And sooner or later she'll figure out I'm not who she seems to think I am.

But there's one thing, one confession that I feel safe enough to repeat. And I do, when I pull up in her driveway to bring her home. "What I said earlier, I meant it." I can feel my ears burning with every awkward word, but I keep going. Jesus, it was so much easier to say this kind of shit to girls when I didn't mean any of it. "You are beautiful. I've always thought so."

She smiles over at me sleepily, having fallen asleep on the way home. I guess she's usually in bed by midnight. "I love you," she says, voice thick with sleep. And then she opens the door and stumbles her way up to the door without waiting for me to say a word. Which is good, because I'm just about glued to the driver's seat, completely floored by the three words she just said.

I love you. _I love you._ I love you? She's half asleep. That must be it. That has to be it. She has no idea what she's saying. She can't possibly mean it.

"Did you get what you needed?" Soda asks me when I get home, looking up from his card game with Steve. He doesn't say anything about my lack of gauze and aspirin. Johnny, still on our couch, is mercifully asleep.

I think about it. And shrug. Because when you get right down to it, I guess I did.


	17. Chapter 17

He picks up the menu and unfolds it. I'd miss it if I weren't looking for it, the slight widening of eyes and the way he swallows nervously. Not for the first time I feel guilty and frivolous. _I shouldn't have asked to come here._ I thought that this place was moderately priced, but it didn't occur to me until we were in his truck that our definitions of 'moderately priced' might differ.

"I could pay," I suggest casually. "Henry pays me more than he ought, and I don't have anything to do with it." I bite my lip and silently curse, angry at myself for having reminded him that my job is cushy and I have no responsibilities.

Darry looks up, outrage reflected in every muscle of his body. In attempting to ease his worry, I've only succeeded in offending him. "Did you ever pay when you were out with Paul?" He demands.

For a second I think about lying, but honesty compels me to shake my head. "No."

"Then you ain't payin' when you're out with me." He drops his eyes back down to the menu and stares at it angrily, as if wondering how cheeseburgers can possibly dare to be so expensive. He's gripping the menu so tightly that I am surprised the prices don't lower themselves in sheer self defense.

I fall silent, studying my own menu. This supper is off to a fantastic start.

* * *

Sometimes when Darry looks at me I can see him weighing the cost of being with me. I don't mean the cost in terms of time or emotions, I mean the actual dollars and cents of our relationship. Dates cost money. Driving to get me costs money. Even the sex we have costs him money, forbidden as I am by social constraints to even _think_ about buying a box of condoms. Everything we do together has to be weighed against other considerations like bills and food.

Am I worth it? I wonder. I ask myself this often. Maybe too often. Because tonight I begin to see the question reflected back at me in his icy blue eyes, and I'm truly scared of what the answer may be.

* * *

If I had expected Friday night to mark a watershed in our relationship, if I had expected that we'd suddenly pour forth all of our feelings to each other and exchange mushy words of love and adoration I am doomed to be disappointed. Because for all of his opening up about his fears and foibles that night, tonight he appears to be back to that cold and emotionless man who makes me work hard for every noncommittal grunt. In fact, he's worse tonight. It's like he has to be driven to the brink of explosion before he can let me in, but once he does he has to make up for it by pushing me out twice as hard.

How did he respond to my sleepily confessed "I love you"? By ignoring it, that's how. It's fine, I didn't mean to say it anyway. Except it isn't fine, and now he looks at me like he doesn't quite know what to do with me.

"How was work?" I ask brightly as the waiter serves our food. Hamburger for him, Caesar salad for me. Water for both of us. I can see the waiter calculating 15% of our bill in his mind, and I can see him decide that we're hardly worth bothering with. I'll have to make my water last because this will probably be the last time we see him.

He shrugs. "Fine."

"Henry drove us out to Sapulpa today to look at some property. There's a pretty little grove of trees there he's planning to rip down and turn into a housing development."

"Well I hope he sobered up for the occasion," Is Darry's caustic observation.

He didn't. In fact we stopped at a bar on the way back just to make sure he hadn't sobered up too much, but I know how much Darry hates to hear about Henry's drinking, so I hastily change the subject. "How are your brothers?"

"Fine."

"And your friend?"

Something flickers in his eyes, but the only thing he says is, "better."

"I missed you."

"You saw me Friday night."

"Saturday felt unusually long."

He shakes his head and shoves a French fry in his mouth. If this were high school I'd reach over and steal a few, but this is real life now so instead I consider my salad. Should I eat it _all_ out of respect for his finances? Or should I only eat half to show him that I'm not going to get fat now that I've hooked myself such a good looking boyfriend? All of it, I think, and then pick up my fork.

We eat in silence for a bit, but then I open my mouth to try again. He preempts me though, asking me, "what, did another roof collapse in New York?"

"Well if you've got something to talk about I'd love to hear it," I snap. "You're not easy to have a conversation with!"

For a second he looks genuinely hurt that I would say this, but then he grits his teeth and says, "alright, Diana. What would you like to talk about?"

"Well," I think. "How was work?"

"It was fine. I climbed up a ladder, and back down again. And then up again, and back down." He takes a bite of his hamburger. "Do you want me to keep going?"

"No." I cross my arms. "How was your morning?"

"It was okay." Then he frowns. "I had a fight with my youngest brother-"

"Ponyboy?"

"Yeah, Ponyboy. We had a fight about how we were going to have our eggs." He scowls. "Sometimes I think if I said the sky was blue he'd argue that it was green."

"He's thirteen, right?" Darry nods. "God, I hated being thirteen. It was such a hard age."

"Tell me about it," Darry mutters. "So I made him scrambled eggs, the way he asked for them. And then he told me they were too dry."

"You probably had the heat on too high. You seem like the kind of impatient person who cooks everything on high so it takes less time."

"Look, I don't have all day to fix breakfast," he huffs, which means I'm probably right. "They can eat what I give 'em or fix their own food."

"I used to wish for siblings," I say wistfully, remembering boring afternoons spent all on my own.

"I used to wish to be an only child," he retorts.

He must not wish for it too hard, or he'd have let them go to a boys' home when he had the chance. But of course I don't say that. Instead I sip my water, listening as he tells me about the football games they play after breakfast and how all of their friends are always there because they leave the door unlocked for anyone who wants to come in.

"Aren't you scared?" I ask. Such an idea is genuinely shocking to me. "Anyone could come in!"

"No." Just one word, full of cocky assurance. "Beats getting up in the middle of the night because one of my friends got hauled in. I don't get enough sleep as it is."

"Do your friends get hauled in often?"

"Often enough."

"I'd like to meet them."

"No."

"Why? Are you embarrassed by me?"

He gives me a sort of startled look. "Of course not. I just don't think they're your sort of crowd."

"But they're _your_ sort of crowd."

"We all grew up together. I don't have a choice." He takes a sip of water, chews on a piece of ice. "It's nothing personal, Diana."

It sure _feels_ personal. But I try to smile at him, and after a second he smiles back. I guess I can't blame him for not wanting to introduce me to his friends. Somehow I manage to be both too much and never enough. I'm so frustrated I could cry, but that would just be further proof that I'm not on his level. I just can't imagine Darry _actually_ crying.

"Come on," he says suddenly. "Let's get out of here."

I look down at my salad, only half eaten. So much for showing him I'm careful with money. "Where are we going now?"

He shrugs. "I figured we'd just drive around. If that's okay?"

I nod, even though I know exactly where he's going to drive to and what we're going to do once we get there. I don't mind. Sex I understand. There aren't any worries when I'm flat on my back, and there's plenty of proof that he's enjoying himself too. It's the one thing I do that I'm confident not even he could find fault with.

"Sounds great," I say. And I follow him out of the restaurant.

* * *

The very next weekend finds me at Lucy's house, trying on her clothes. Usually this would be impossible, Lucy and I having such different shapes, but she swears she has a dress that is too long and tight on her and that she thinks will fit me perfectly. And it _does_ fit me perfectly. So perfectly that I'm immediately skeptical of her claims that this is her dress.

"Don't you like it?" Lucy asks, politely confused. "It looks amazing on you."

And God does it ever _feel_ amazing too. It's pure silk, pure white, and hits about three inches above my knee. Seeing that I'm too much in love with it to take it off, Lucy adds mascara and a swipe of pale pink lipstick that looks slightly off on my olive skin. And then she steps back to admire her handiwork.

"You look just like Jean Shrimpton." Lucy grins, satisfied. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"To the Derby," Lucy jokes. She laughs when I roll my eyes. "I just thought it might be nice to go visit Teddy."

"You've got me this dressed up to visit Teddy?"

Lucy gestures to her own black dress, which hits her knees but looks as if it borrowed some fabric from the top to do so. "If you're dressed up it won't look strange if I am." She gestures to the display of cleavage. "I want him to see me in this. Are you ready?"

I nod, wiping off some lipstick with my fingers. "Whenever you are."

* * *

Lucy drives us over to Teddy's apartment building. It's one of the tallest buildings I've ever seen, and we take the elevator to the twenty-eighth floor. I hate elevators, but when Lucy asks if I'd rather walk I find that I hate the thought of climbing twenty-eight flights of stairs even more, so I grin and bare it.

Lucy knocks hard on Teddy's door, and before I know it the door is swinging open and about forty or so people are yelling "surprise!" at the top of their lungs.

"What… what _is_ this?" I ask, completely flabbergasted as Lucy pulls me out of the hallway and into Teddy's rather spacious apartment.

Lucy giggles, looking rather proud of herself. "It's a surprise party for your birthday! Are you surprised?"

I nod, still in a daze as people I haven't seen since high school come up to wish me a happy birthday. "I had no idea! Is-"

"I _asked_ Darrel," Lucy's voice goes quiet, like she knows she's about to disappoint me. "And he was supposed to be here, but at the last minute he couldn't make it. I'm sorry."

The disappointment stings, but it isn't completely unexpected. "Oh well."

"Look how many other people showed up!"

 _They'd show up to celebrate paper clips if there were free booze involved_ , I think. But it's so sweet of Lucy to throw me this party that I try to push aside my disappointment. I throw my arms around my best friend. "Thank you so much, Luce! This is fantastic!"

"Happy Birthday, Diana." Teddy says, coming up to us with a beer in hand. He throws an arm around Lucy, who I suddenly notice has left off her engagement ring even though I'm positive that she was wearing it earlier. My hands fly up to my neck, and I'm suddenly conscious of the fact that I myself have left off Darry's ring. Maybe it's a good thing he _isn't_ here.

"Thanks, Teddy." And I mean it. "It was nice of you to let Lucy use your apartment."

Teddy shrugs and drains his beer. "Anything for Luce."

Lucy pinks as she pushes away from Teddy rather suddenly. She grabs my hand as tugs me towards the kitchen. "Come in, I'll make you a drink."

* * *

One drink turns into three or four, and before I know it I'm too drunk to realize that Lucy has left off the orange juice in my screwdriver entirely, and I'm chugging straight vodka.

"You're a jerk," I'm telling an equally drunk Cal. It was maddening to see him turn up at my birthday party now that I know what he did to my boyfriend, but I'm pleased to have the opportunity to give him a piece of my mind. "You're just awful."

"Yeah, well, I've heard some things about _you_ that aren't so flattering, Diana Hayes," Cal returns. For a second I think he might hit me, but then he laughs.

"Come on you two. It's Diana's birthday and we have to be nice." Paul approaches me for the first time that night, putting an arm around my waist.

"Why do you care? Word is she dumped you for-"

"That's enough," Paul says sharply. He pulls me away and I go stumbling after him. He deposits me back in the kitchen even though Lucy has long since departed and turns to leave.

"Wait!" I cry.

He turns back to me. " _What_ Diana?"

"You're going to leave me here alone on my birthday?"

"Maybe your new boyfriend will show up to keep you company."

I toss my hair, a mistake because the room spins around me and I have to steady myself against Teddy's kitchen table to keep myself from falling over. "You just told Cal he had to be nice to me on my birthday. That means _you do too_."

"Once you cheated on me, that rule went out the window."

"Maybe Miriam can explain how that works to me."

He laughs at that, dimple on full display. "Happy birthday, babe."

"Thanks!" But he still turns to leave. This time I let him.

He stops before he reaches the door. "Hey Diana?"

"What?"

"You look great tonight." He smiles one more time at me over his shoulder, and then I'm alone.

* * *

As the party winds down, I find Henry playing cards with some other guys who look vaguely familiar and I throw my arms around his neck. "Henry! You didn't tell me ANYTHING! I worked with you ALL WEEK and you didn't say a single WORD!"

Very carefully he peels my arms off his neck. "Diana, you are drunk."

"Am not," I lie happily. One of the other guys at the table laughs and says something in a low voice to one of his friends.

"Go find Lucy," Henry orders. "I'm not here to babysit, kiddo."

"I'm not a _kid_. Don't call me that!"

"Sure," he snickers. "Isn't it past your bedtime?"

"Listen here, Henry," I start, but before I can chew him out like I'm planning to do, Lucy comes towards me with her eye makeup running down her face. A pit of dread begins to form in my stomach.

"Come on, Diana! I want to go home!" She sobs.

A guilty looking Teddy trails in behind her. And all the anger I've been attempting to unleash all night suddenly finds a shiny new target.

"YOU!" I burst out, stomping towards Teddy. Teddy's eyes widen slightly and he looks towards Henry. "What did you DO to her?"

"I didn't do anything!" Teddy protests.

"Yes you did!"

"Diana, let's just leave!"

"Diana, you are very drunk."

 _I'm not_ , I want to say. But as I whip around to address whomever made that comment, the room spins away. Or maybe it's me that's spinning away. I see Lucy's face, pale and drawn, with the mascara running down her face like prison bars, and then darkness.

* * *

I wake up with cold legs and an aching head, sprawled out on a bed that is definitely not my own. _Where's my party_? I wonder groggily. A snore from my right startles me, and I whip around (my head protests at this) to see Paul snoring next to me.

"Shit!" I let out a little scream and smack Paul in his arm. "Wake up!" I smack him again. "Oh my God, wake up!"

"The _hell_ Diana?" He asks, confused and groggy as he comes to. "I was _sleeping."_

"What happened?" It comes out as less of a question and more of a very shrill accusation. "What did we do?"

"You don't remember?" His blue eyes are wide. "That's… actually very hurtful." I stare at him for a second, and then he cracks a grin. "Relax, babe. Nothing happened. Curtis is still your one and only."

"Where are we? What time is it?" His assurances make me only slightly less hysterical, because if Darry ever finds out I woke up in the same bed as Paul I'm sure he won't believe it was all innocent. "Why are you in bed with me if nothing happened?"

"This is Cal's bed-"

"Why does Cal have a bed here?" I lower my voice, suddenly nauseous. "Oh God, I didn't… not with him! Did I?"

"Cal lives here now. No one told you?" I shake my head. "He got kicked out of his big, fancy school. And _no,_ you didn't mess around with him. That's why I'm here, actually." Paul gropes around in the darkness for my hand. When he finds it, he takes it and gives it a squeeze. "Leaving you defenseless in his bedroom didn't seem like a very good idea. So I sat with you. Guess I fell asleep too."

"Well, thank you." I'm oddly touched. "Sorry I hit you."

Paul makes a face and rubs his arm. "That hurt. I'm pretty sure you left a _bruise_ , Diana."

"Oh, please. I've seen you take harder hits than that on the football field." Paul laughs, but then something occurs to me. "What time is it?"

Paul checks his watch. "2:30 a.m."

I shoot straight up in bed. "My dad is going to _kill_ me. Where is Lucy? I need to go home!"

"Lucy left," Paul informs me. "After her big fight with Teddy she took off."

"She _left_ me here?"

Paul shrugs. He's never much cared for Lucy. "Come on, babe. I'll give you a ride home."

I stand up, but just as quickly I sit back down. A wave of nausea overtakes me and I lie back, clutching my head. "I'm never drinking again."

Paul smoothes my hair back from my face. "I didn't think about it, but you might have a concussion. You fell pretty hard. That was pretty spectacular, by the way. One second you're yelling at Teddy, and the next _splat_!"

An idea blossoms in my possibly concussed brain. "Maybe you could take me to the hospital."

"If that's what you want. You ever think about just moving out?"

"All the time," I confess.

Paul falls silent for a minute. "I owe you an apology," he finally says. He lays down next to me and puts his arm around me. I should probably tell him to move, but it feels too good to just be held so I don't.

"For?"

"I said some pretty awful things last time we spoke. I'm sure if Darry likes you it has nothing to do with me. You're… shoot, you're a pretty likeable person."

I bite my lip. "Paul, why did you cheat on me? Was it something I did? Was I too… childish for you?"

He looks at me like I've lost my mind. "It had nothing to do with you, babe."

"Then why?"

He rolls over on his back, stares at the ceiling. "I didn't mean for it to happen. It wasn't just Miriam. I'm sure Curtis has told you that."

"Darry hasn't said a word about it to me."

"Oh." He takes a deep breath and turns back over to face me. "It didn't start until I went off to college. There were just so many good looking girls throwing themselves at me 'cause I could catch a football. It was… it was amazing. Most of the guys on the team were doing the same thing, so I just told myself that you would never find out. And after a while I guess I just convinced myself that it was something separate from you. And in a way it was. I was just having sex with them, but I _loved_ you."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry I said that it was you. I wanted to be the football player with the hot cheerleader girlfriend, and I tried too hard to make you fit into my dreams. I hope you and Darrel are happy. I hope he's good to you," he says, and the awkwardness with which he says it only makes it more endearing. "I'm sorry I wasn't."

"I lied to you." Since he's sharing tonight, I guess it's only fair that I contribute. "When I said that I didn't want to be a cheerleader anymore. I lied. I went to tryouts."

His arm, back around my body, pulls me closer. "You didn't make the team?"

"I didn't try out," I confess. "Don't get me wrong, I wanted to! I went, and I swear every girl was prettier than the last. And they were all such perfect little WASPs. I couldn't do it. I just didn't fit in there."

"What do you mean you didn't fit in?" His face screws up in confusion. "Even when I was screwin' around on you I thought you were prettier than most of the girls I was seeing."

It's such a Paul thing to say that I laugh. "I just didn't fit in. You can look at me and tell I don't fit in. I look too.. Eastern European. Too… too Jewish."

"But you're just as pretty as any of those girls!" Paul protests again, not seeing that it isn't a matter of looks at all. At least, not the way he thinks it is. He doesn't see, the way I do, that my olive skin and dark hair and eyes mark me as different even before people find out that Jesus is decidedly _not_ my Lord and Saviour.

 _I wouldn't have to explain this to Darry_ , I think. But then again, Darry doesn't much want to talk to me unless he's on the verge of a breakdown so I might not be correct in that assessment. But I just think if I told him how I don't fit in with anyone he'd get that.

"Darry told me what you did for him back in high school," I say, just to be saying something. "With Cal and his car. That was a good thing."

"I knew I wouldn't get in any trouble. Soc on Soc, you know? But Darry would have lost his scholarship at the very least."

"It was still decent of you," I insist.

"If you say so." He smiles his crooked little smile. "Come on, I'll take you to the hospital if you think it'll keep your dad from killing you." And I think considering I cheated on him with his best friend that it's rather kind of him.

But he doesn't move. Neither do I. Instead we stare at each other. I don't know what he's thinking, but I'm thinking very hard about _him._ It's strange. There's the Paul who cheated on me, but there's also the Paul who took me to see Cleopatra every day for two weeks straight and never complained once. There's the Paul who is capable of breathtaking acts of selfishness, but there's also the Paul who won't leave Tulsa because his mother might come to her senses and need him one day. It's only fair, I guess, because there's the Diana who cheated on him existing right along with the Diana who might regret making such hasty decisions. And maybe that's just how it is: Maybe all of us are made up of a thousand selves, contradicting ourselves at every turn.

"I am large, I contain multitudes." The words come to me suddenly and I can't help but speak them out loud.

"Walt Whitman," Paul says. When I look at him in astonishment, he cocks an eyebrow and grins. "Hey, I'm not just another pretty face."

I giggle, but then I stop suddenly when Paul moves closer to me. He rests his hand on the back of my head. I know he is going to kiss me about a half second before he actually does it, but I don't pull away: Worse, when his lips meet mine I actually kiss him back. There's none of the immediacy of kissing Darry, none of the spark or the intensity. But what I do feel is familiarity. There's no self-doubt or second guessing when I'm with Paul. And while it doesn't make my toes curl up or make my body hot with some unquenchable _need_ , it's pleasant in its own way.

He pulls away first, breathing heavily. "I should take you to the hospital."

I sit up, shaking. _What the hell is wrong with me_? Paul, sensing I'm upset, pulls me up by the hand. I can't stop the tears from spilling down my face.

"It's okay, Diana. I won't tell him." he voice sounds weary, but he wipes away my tears with his thumb. "I promise. I love you."

 _I love you_. Present tense. _But I love Darry!_ I want to protest. But there's still that little part of me that has feelings for Paul, and maybe there always will be. We're truly awful people who understand each other in the best and worst ways possible. That's hard to let go of.

I hang on to his hand as he leads me out of the bedroom.

* * *

 **A/N** : Thank you to everyone who is sticking with me as I write this story. I appreciate each and every review!


	18. Chapter 18

I'm dreaming about Diana again.

I haven't done it in a while, not since we actually started dating, but tonight here she is, stretched out in my bed wearing the sheerest little nightgown I could dream up. Usually when I dream about her I put her in her cheerleading uniform, but I guess tonight my imagination felt like something different. It doesn't matter. I know how these dreams usually go: she won't be wearing anything for very long.

I run my hands down her body. The nightgown is silky under my fingers, but it's nothing compared to the smooth flesh underneath.

"Darry?" Her dark eyes are wide as I pin her underneath me, and all that feigned innocence is more of a turn on than any cheerleading uniform or sheer nightgown could ever be. She knows what I want and we both know I'm going to get it, but she's going to pretend otherwise. I love it.

I lean down to kiss her. Her lips are warm and the kiss feels real. _Too real_. I blink down at her and try not to explode. "Diana, what the hell are you doing here at-"

"Two in the the morning," she supplies for me.

I roll off of her. I'm frustrated, horny, and pissed off. "What the hell were you thinking coming down here in the middle of the night?" _Especially dressed like that,_ I want to add but I don't.

"Don't worry, I'm not planning to stay for breakfast," She says snidely. She sits up, combing her hair out with her fingers. "I've been here for ten minutes, why are you just now yelling at me?"

"I thought I was dreaming," I mutter, slightly embarrassed. I guess there are worse things to confess to, but I can't really think of anything right now.

She gives a little giggle. "Dream about me a lot, do you?"

I'm glad it's dark, because my ears are burning. I cross my arms and glower at her. "Don't you know how dangerous it is to come down here?" My stomach turns to ice at the thought of the things that could have happened to her, and I have to physically clench my hands together to suppress the urge to shake her. "What if you'd broken down on the side of the road dressed like that, huh? You think you wouldn't make an easy target for someone lookin' for some easy fun?

She glares at me. "Maybe think of _that_ next time you decide to ignore me for a week straight. If you would just talk to me on the phone I wouldn't have to sneak down here in the middle of the night."

"I've been busy."

"Liar."

"Excuse me?"

"You're a liar." She enunciates every word very carefully. "You're avoiding me."

I have to look away, unwilling to lie directly to her face. What can I tell her? That I didn't want to go to her party because I didn't want to be surrounded by all those Socs I used to think were my friends, but who haven't found time to call me since my parents died? That I haven't wanted to talk to her because I'm well aware that I'm fucking everything up? I can't help myself: It's like a compulsion. Every single time I look at her I can hear Dallas fucking Winston's voice in my head calling me a traitor. I can see the face of the kid I pummeled for no other reason than that he was there. She thinks she loves me? She's got no damned idea who I even am.

"Please, Darry. If you want to break up with me-"

"I don't want to break up with you." It's the exact opposite of what I want to say, but somehow she's much harder to walk away from when she's physically in front of me.

"I kissed Paul."

"You _what?"_ It comes out much too loudly and I clench my teeth. My brothers are still sleeping, I remind myself. And God help me if they wake up and find out I've got a girl in here. I will _never_ live it down.

"I kissed Paul." She pulls her knees up and hugs them. "At the birthday party Lucy threw for me. I was drunk-"

"That's no excuse!"

"I wasn't drunk when I kissed him," she explains softly. "The drunk part happened before."

I stare at her. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"I'm just telling you how it happened." She pauses, like she's waiting for me to object, but I don't. "I'm sorry."

My thoughts are a jumble of jealousy, self-loathing, and outright hatred. Out of the mess I try to pull something coherent, but nothing comes. I knew this wouldn't work out, but I never thought it'd end like this.

Diana starts to look a little panicked by my continued silence. "I've been trying to tell you all week, but you wouldn't take my calls. I couldn't wait any longer." Still I don't say anything. "I'll leave if you want me to."

"No." The idea of her locking lips with Paul Holden is damn painful, but not as painful as the thought of her walking out of my life forever. It's funny; I've been so focused on not turning into my father that it never occurred to me that I might turn into my mother instead. But here I am, telling Diana not to go because the idea of being any more alone than I already am hurts too much.

She still looks nervous, brushing a strand of that inky dark hair being her ear. "Okay, okay. Whatever you want."

"I want you not to see him again."

She nods, agreeing with alacrity. "If that's what you want. Darry, please believe me. You're all I want. It's just… sometimes I think you hate me."

In my mind I'm ripping Paul's arms off of his body, so I almost don't hear her. But when what she says finally sinks in, it surprises me a hell of a lot more than her confession about Paul. "I don't _hate_ you. Why would you even think that?"

"You act like I'm some huge burden. You never look happy to be with me. You don't _talk_ to me-"

"So this is my fault?" I ask incredulously. It's so unbelievable, almost like something my dad would pull, that I can't help but laugh. "What do you want me to say to you? I'm sorry I don't go around spillin' my guts like a pansy ass rich boy, but I also don't go around screwin' every attractive female in sight, so maybe you ought to think about that instead of running off to Paul-"

"I didn't _run off_ to Paul. And I'm not saying you have to _spill your guts_! But whenever we're together, and it isn't even that often-"

"I warned you! I warned you how things would be before we even got started. I work two jobs. I'm the only thing standing between my brothers and the State, so don't throw that back in my face now-"

"I'm not! But you could at least act like you care about me when we _are_ together!"

We've moved closer to each other during our fight, and now we're about an inch away from each other. I'm staring into her eyes thinking of some way to defend myself when she moves away and puts her face in her hands. I can tell from the way her shoulders rise and fall that she's crying.

 _That's cheating,_ I think irritably. But damn if it doesn't make me feel like the biggest asshole on the face of the Earth. She's playing me like a fiddle, and just for a second I think maybe I do hate her.

It only lasts for a second before I push it away. "C'mere." Diana looks up at me, tears staining her cheeks. The cynical side of me is impressed she actually managed to work up real tears. "Come. Here." She slides over to me, and I pull her on top of me and kiss her roughly. Fucking Paul Holden. Paul… something occurs to me and I pull away from her. "Diana. When I kissed you, when you were back in high school, did you ever tell Paul?"

She pauses, and I know she's trying to decide what exactly I want to hear right now. "No," she confesses, shoulders slumped over like she's afraid of disappointing me.

"Why not?" I demand. She doesn't answer, but she's not going to get off that easily. "Diana, _why not_?"

She tosses her head back and give me a challenging, defiant look. "Because I never regretted kissing you."

It's what I need to hear. It might even be the truth. I kiss her again and she kisses me back. Off comes that tiny nightgown before I pin her under me, trying desperately to blot out every thought and memory of Paul for the both us.

* * *

I wake up the next morning at my usual time, and Diana feels like nothing more than a distant dream. I roll over, give my pillows a little sniff. The scent of her floral shampoo fills my nostrils. _It was real then,_ I think. _All of it._

I sink down into the pillow, drowning in the smell of flowers now. It's a cloying smell, reminding me of funerals and dead floral arrangements. I have to get up, make breakfast, go to work… I have a million and one things to do today, I don't have time to lay in bed and analyze Diana and me like we're characters in some goddamn literary novel I'm reading for English class. I could rip us both into a million little pieces and put us under a microscope, but after tearing us up I don't know if I could ever put us back together again. It's a strange Gordian knot, this relationship with Diana. I want to pull her close and I want to push her away all at the same time, and it confuses the hell out of me. I guess I can see why it'd confuse the hell out of her too, maybe even enough that she'd find her way back to a guy who at least pretends to care about her.

I swear softly to myself and force myself out of bed. If there's one thing I know how to do, it's stuff everything down to be dealt with later. I've been doing it to some degree my entire life, but I've become a real pro at it since my parents died. I'm already in a bad mood, the last thing I need is Steve Randle and his mouth in my face, but that's exactly what I get.

"So," Steve drawls the second I step foot into my own living room. It's clear he spent the night on our couch. "Who was the broad?"

Soda, already awake and pulling out the chocolate cake he made last night, looks at me in astonishment. "Your girl come by last night?"

"Of course not." The lie slips off my tongue easier than I'd like.

"There was definitely a girl here." Steve refuses to drop it. "And it sure as hell wasn't Sandy."

"What'd she look like?" Soda asks, curious.

I ignore them as I make my way to the kitchen, focusing firstly on coffee. Once I get the coffee perked maybe I'll have the patience for Steve, but it ain't likely.

"Dark hair, long legs," I hear Steve say.

"Sounds like Darry's girl. Hey, Dar! You _sure_ Diana wasn't here last night?"

"Positive."

"Well next time tell her to visit _me_." Steve laughs. He raises his voice to make sure I can hear him. "Girl had an ass on her like-"

"That's enough!" I slam my coffee cup down on the kitchen counter.

"Definitely his girl then," Steve snickers. "Nice nightgown she had on."

"Well maybe if you're nice I'll ask her if you can borrow it." It slips out before I can think about it. And there goes my denial, not that it was doing me much good anyway.

Steve just won't let up. "Man, you think you'd be a little happier after getting laid. Soda, why's your brother such a moody bitch?"

I don't hear Soda's reply as I begin the process of making breakfast for those of us who can't subsist on chocolate cake alone, but I can't miss Steve's loud burst of laughter, and then the sounds of my youngest brother entering into the living room. Whatever is said makes Steve laugh again, but it makes Ponyboy scurry into the kitchen looking red and angry.

"Good morning," I say evenly, hoping that whatever Steve (and I know it was goddamned Randle and his goddamned mouth) said to get Pony all riled up, it wasn't about me getting laid.

"Mornin'," Pony returns. He crosses his arms and leans against the counter, glaring into the living room like Steve can see him. He shows no sign of moving, and I guess whatever I am at least I'm better company than Steve Randle.

"Eggs?" I offer.

Pony nods, and I scrape the eggs that I scrambled for myself onto a plate for him. He eyes them warily, before grabbing my proffered fork and shoveling them into his mouth.

"You're getting better," he notes with some surprise.

"Yeah, I'm puttin' the heat on lower. It takes longer, but I guess it's worth it if they taste better." I force myself to smile.

Ponyboy eats his breakfast in the kitchen with me, and I have to admit it's nice to spend some time with my youngest brother even if we are just eating. "You gonna go to work today?" Ponyboy asks.

"Well someone has to pay the bills around here," I note dryly. Too late I realize my oversensitive brother might take that the wrong way, and sure enough when I glance over at him his face is falling. I squash the flicker of irritation I feel and reach over and cuff him lightly on the ear. It's meant to be affectionate, the kind of thing me and Soda have done since we were old enough to swing our fists around, but his glare let's me know that isn't welcome either.

"Ow." He rubs his ear.

Jesus Christ, he can't be serious. "Don't be a baby."

He flushes. "I ain't no baby."

"Then stop acting like one!"

"Everything okay in here?" Soda sticks his head inside the kitchen.

"It's fine," I manage to say, but Ponyboy grabs his plate and walks back to the living room where I imagine he'll give Soda an earful.

I grit my teeth, crack another egg. Seems I can't do anything right here lately, and I'm getting real sick of it.

* * *

Work is hot and boring. All day I ruminate over the argument (was it an argument?) with my brother. I just don't know where I'm going wrong with him, and I wish to God someone could tell me what to do. Not Soda, cause he never sees my side, but someone who might understand that I can't just let the kid run wild and loose. Someone who might see that I'm trying my best. It's damn frustrating.

And when I'm not thinking about Ponyboy, my mind tortures me with thoughts of Diana and Paul. All I can see is Paul with his hands all over my girlfriend, and the worst part is knowing that it's not just my imagination. They dated for years and I got to see that shit almost every day. I didn't like it back then, but it drives me almost crazy now. So crazy that every nail starts to look like Paul's face. And as I'm up there on that roof, sweating like a pig and swinging away at my former best friend's face on a nail, I start to think that maybe this is a problem with a very obvious solution.

I can't do anything about Ponyboy, but I sure as hell can fix Paul.

* * *

The bell on the door rings when I walk in, and Paul looks up from the ledger he's attempting to balance. Holden's Dry Cleaners is empty this time of evening since most people have already dropped off or picked up their laundry, but Paul stays late during the summer to help his dad balance the books.

"Darrel." He starts to smile when he sees me, but then he remembers that we aren't friends anymore so he hides it real quick. Instead he just nods his head. "Don't tell me you need a suit cleaned for work."

I ignore the comment and cross my arms, fixing him with my best glare. "Stay away from Diana."

He closes the ledger. "You know, you stole my girlfriend, Curtis. Some people might consider that _I'm_ the injured party here."

"Yeah, well, those 'some people' ain't me." I take a step closer to him, and then another. "She's with _me_ now."

"She wouldn't be if I hadn't screwed up," he taunts. "Doesn't that bother you?"

 _Well now that he mentions it…_ "No." I put my hands on the counter, gripping it tightly. I've got a good three inches on Paul and a lot more muscle too. If he wants to fight, I'm confident that the odds are in my favor.

"She's a great kisser."

"I know. I found that out a couple of years ago myself."

He blinks, surprised, and then he laughs. Actually laughs. "Well, damn. Guess I deserved that. Were you messing around with her the whole time?"

Some of the anger goes out of me, and I wish Paul would fight like a normal person. He's no coward, but he doesn't have much of a temper to speak of. I don't get it.. Anger has always been at my center, just like it has always been at the center of every other guy I know. For a brief second I wonder what it's like to wake up and not be pissed off at the world, to wake up and not know that every single thing in your life is going to be an absolute struggle. What must that be like? But I shake my head. I need that anger, especially now.

"Of course not." We look at each other, and it kills me to admit that I'm the one who looks away first. "But you're not gonna see her anymore, got it?"

Paul shrugs. "It's up to her, don't you think?"

My anger blazes up again. "She's not going to see you again, and you're gonna stay away!"

"Darrel, just a word of advice. This caveman shit isn't going to work with Diana. She might put up with it now while you can still milk the pity about your dead parents, but she doesn't like being told what to do."

"You don't know anything-"

"Don't I?" My fists itch to wipe that smug smile off his face, but he keeps going. "I dated her for years. I'd say I know her rather… intimately. Inside and out."

That's all it takes. I slug him, right in the mouth and he swings back at me. Before I know it, we're trading blows right there in the lobby of Holden's Dry Cleaning.

He gets a few good hits in, but he is by far getting the worst of it when his dad comes in from the back office. "Paul! Darrel! Cut it out! Now!"

Paul stops swinging immediately and so do I: Hell, it's like being fourteen again and being caught with Mr. Holden's best bottle of sherry and a Playboy. Paul's on the ground, I offer him a hand up. After a second he takes it.

"Now what is this all about?" Unlike Paul, Mr. Holden definitely has a temper. I can tell by the way he's looking at us that he's barely keeping it in check.

Paul scowls. "Nothing."

""It had better be nothing." Mr. Holden scowls. "If this is about Dana-"

"Diana," Paul corrects.

His irritated sigh is the only sign that Mr. Holden has registered his son's correction. "Girls are a dime a dozen. You boys had best not fight over them." His dad looks us both over and softens just a bit. "Trust me, you'll be much happier if you don't let some tramp come between you. You lose one, you get another. It's harder to replace friends."

"Yes sir," Paul mumbles, face red. I nod along. We're both liars, just like we were when we told Mr Holden we'd never touch alcohol again.

But we're convincing enough that he believes us. Mr. Holden makes us shake hands before he leaves, seemingly content with himself for having just prevented the Third World War.

"She's not a _tramp_ ," Paul says, but I can't help but notice that he waits until his dad is out of the room to say it. He glares at me, like I'm the one who said it. "She's not a dime a dozen either."

I hold up my hands defensively. "No argument here. And I'm perfectly fine letting her come between us."

His lip is bleeding ever so slightly, but mostly I went easy on him. "Likewise." I turn to go. "Darrel!"

"What?" It doesn't come out as mean as I want it to. It's hard to believe that eight month ago I was closer to him than my own brothers. Now look at us.

"It was all me. I kissed her. She didn't want it, but I did it anyway. She cried for you afterwards." He swallows hard. "It wasn't her fault."

"Stay the hell away from her," I repeat. "I mean it."

Paul shrugs like it doesn't matter to him and goes back to the ledger. "Don't count on it."

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, especially those anonymous reviewers who lit a fire under me (so to speak) and motivated me to finish this chapter. As always, thank you to everyone who supports me.


	19. Chapter 19

"You've rearranged," I note, looking around Darry's room. The bed has been moved clear across the room, and in its place he's crammed his dresser and bookcase. The latter doesn't quite fit; it just out at an awkward angle. His room is even smaller than mine.

Even in the semi-darkness of his room I can make out the flush, wine dark, that spreads across Darry's cheeks. "I had some noise complaints." I think it's adorable the way this six foot something tough guy blushes, modest as any virgin, but I know it's not what we've been doing that has this effect, but the fact that his brothers have found out.

I can't resist teasing him about it. "What, your brothers don't enjoy the rhythmic sounds of the headboard knocking against the wall?"

He doesn't miss a beat. "Nah," he deadpans. "It ain't the "rhythmic knocking" that bothers them. It's your constant talking."

"You're only insulting me now because I've already put out."

"I'm no fool," he says laconically.

I roll my eyes at that, leaning against his shoulder. It's the third time I've snuck over this month, not counting the time that I came to confess. He might have read me the riot act that first time, but he wasn't above suggesting that I come back. I had no doubt that as much as he enjoyed our midnight assignations (and laughed at me for calling them midnight assignations) he mercilessly punished himself for them after I left. But still he kept asking me to come back.

His hands running down my body distracts me from my thoughts and brings me back to the present. For someone who's so rarely affectionate any other time, Darry likes touching me in bed even when we aren't having sex. It's like he can't get enough of me. But there's something he likes even more than touching me, and that's being touched.

I sit up and move to straddle him. We've already had sex so he knows there isn't anything more to it, but even so he goes absolutely still as I explore his body with my hands. Down his broad shoulders, across his biceps with their bulging muscles, and down that firm stomach. It's like petting a very large, very dangerous cat. Already his eyes are half closed and I think if I continued on, he'd eventually go to sleep.

I stop when I get to his hands. His knuckles are bruised and bloody, and after a second I decide I can't ignore the obvious evidence of a fight. "Who pissed you off?" I ask, trying to make it sound casual.

He pulls his hand away. "A friend," he says, and after a second he adds in rather harsh tones, "not Paul, if that's what you're thinkin'."

"I'm not thinking anything," I claim, even as relief floods my body. "I'm just curious."

He doesn't believe me. I know he doesn't believe me, but we're going to pretend otherwise. He takes a deep breath, but it does nothing for the tension he still holds in his body. "A friend of mine was mouthing off. I let him get to me. It won't happen again."

 _It won't happen again._ It's the same thing that he told me the morning he called me up and told me that he'd confronted Paul, that he'd warned Paul away from me. I don't know why he felt the need to promise me that. Maybe he felt as sick as I did about the way their friendship had ended.

"Alright." I slide off of him, knowing our reverie is at an end. I start the hunt for my clothes.

"D'you want to go to a movie tomorrow night?"

"A movie? You need a nap that badly?" I ask as I fish my panties out from behind his bookcase.

"I figure you can't get mad I'm not talking to you if we're at a movie."

"Aren't you clever." How my bra ended up stuck between his blinds I can't even begin to figure out.

"I like to think so," he says pleasantly. "So how 'bout it?"

I think about it. "I guess that would be alright."

He helps me clasp my bra, and then presses his lips against my shoulder. "I'm glad you came over tonight."

"Me too," I whisper back.

* * *

"You can't come in," I say to Paul quite firmly. He's standing on my porch, smiling at me.

"That's not what you said _last_ time we saw each other," Paul points out.

"It's what I should have said. Go away." I move to shut the door, but he sticks his foot in and blocks me.

"Come on," he wheedles. "At least talk to me."

"I have nothing to say to you!"

"Well maybe I have stuff I want to say to _you_." He gives me his best puppy dog eyes. "Come on, I'm not asking you to elope, I just want to talk."

" _No._ "

"Diana? Who is that at the door?" My mother's voice drifts in from the kitchen, and a moment later so does she. "Paul! What a surprise! Diana, why are you keeping him on the porch?"

"Because I don't want to talk to him," I say stubbornly.

My mother gives me a stern look. "Diana, he was nice enough to take you to the hospital when you had your accident. That's no way to treat him."

Paul's smug face reminds me that I'm a victim of my own lies. _Being grounded for the next ten years would have been preferable to this_ , I think. Reluctantly I open the door more widely, and he steps through it and into my home.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hayes," Paul says to my mother, using his stupid dimple to great effect on my poor mother. "I thought for sure Diana was going to leave me out there."

My mother actually giggles, even though at her age she should probably be less susceptible to good looking males. I wonder if my father knows that she's like this. "I was just about to fix lunch. Are you hungry?"

"Absolutely!" Paul enthuses. He soaks up my mother's attention like a sponge, letting her fuss over him and answering all her questions about his life with alacrity.

It's when she observes that he needs to eat more that I can't help myself from rolling my eyes. "If anything he needs to eat _less_ ," I say, quite meanly. "He's looking a bit plump if you ask me."

"Diana!" My mother is horrified.

Paul just laughs, easygoing as always. He runs a hand over his pudge (and it _is_ pudge, no matter what my mother wants to pretend) and says, "I've got to protect my muscles during the off season, Diana. Can't have them getting injured."

I roll my eyes again, but my mother laughs like it's the funniest thing in the world. "So are you seeing anyone now Paul?"

I gasp and choke at this impertinence, but no one pays any attention to me.

"No," Paul says wistfully, staring at me.

"Neither is Diana!" My mother exclaims.

"What?" I yelp. "I'm seeing Darry, remember? I'm seeing him tonight, actually." I glare at Paul. He'd better be gone by then.

"But it isn't serious!" My mother says firmly, and then she scurries off to fix some lunch before I can offer a rebuttal.

"It _is_ serious," I tell Paul. "It's very serious."

"Yeah, it felt pretty serious when he was hitting me in the face." Paul rubs his jaw, like he can still feel it. "He's lucky I let him hit me. I figured you wouldn't like it if I hurt him too badly."

"Like you _could_ ," I snarl. "What do you want anyway?"

Paul drops down on my couch. "You know, Diana, I'm starting to think you don't want me here."

"I _don't_."

"It's really starting to hurt my feelings."

"Good."

Paul cocks his head to the side, studying me. I can't keep up the hostility under such close scrutiny. I feel my face drop the snarl, and I stare back at him.

"Don't you ever miss me?" He asks.

"Not one bit," I say firmly.

Paul smiles and looks away. He doesn't believe me any more than I believe myself.

* * *

My mother serves up soup and sandwiches for lunch, and she and Paul keep up an animated conversation. They have to do it themselves, because I keep silent unless directly addressed, and even then I try to keep my answers to monosyllables only.

When Paul leaves, my mother looks over at me and shakes her head. "You were incredibly rude to him, Diana. I have never been more ashamed of you than I am right now."

I try not to let it bother me, but I'm not used to being a disappointment to my mother. She's the one parent I can usually count on to understand. "I told you I didn't want to see him."

She purses her lips. "This thing with Darrel has gone on long enough. You've got to get serious about your future."

"I'm trying," I remind her. "Dad won't let me change my major-"

She shakes her head. "I don't mean school, I mean your _real_ future."

"You don't think I could be a lawyer?" I ask. I always thought she believed in me. The idea that she's just been humoring me all this time hurts more than I can put into words.

"Diana-"

"Paul cheated on me, Mom!" I remind her. "Don't you think I deserve better than that?"

"Of course you do." She looks confused, like she can't understand what's happening. "But you also need to learn when to let things go and forgive."

My hands are almost shaking. I clench then together to stop the slight tremor. "I don't have to forgive Darry. He's never done anything."

"You're young," she says. "You don't know the first thing about what it's like to be poor. He's not even in school, honey. His friends are all hoodlums and potential criminals. What future do you think you have with him?"

"I don't know," I say honestly. "But he's a good person."

She looks at me pityingly. I know she adores my father, that much has been made devastatingly obvious my entire life, sometimes to the point where I felt like an intruder in their love story. I never thought that she could be so mercenary.

"I thought we were doing you a favor," my mother reflects. "Being so strict and shielding you from the realities of the world. But maybe not."

I don't know what to say to that, so in the end I don't say anything at all.

* * *

Later that evening, Darry knocks on the door and my mother disappears to her bedroom.

My dad looks confused. "Leah? Where are you going?" He looks at me. "What's wrong with your mother?"

I shrug. "She doesn't approve."

I must look as dejected as I feel, because my father pats me on the head awkwardly. "She'll come around," he promises, and I wonder if he knows her half as well as he thinks he does. "Go open the door."

"Hi," Darry says. "Ready to go?"

I start to nod and step out the door, but my father's voice calls me back. "Diana, Darrel, come inside for a moment."

Darry freezes, and for a second he looks a bit panicked. I know what he's thinking, because I'm thinking it too. Did my dad find out that I've been sneaking over to his house in the middle of the night? I feel like I would have heard about it before now, or that if he knew his tone would be less mild.

Darry comes inside, rather bravely I think. "Hello, Mr. Hayes."

"Darrel, you've been dating Diana for a few months now."

"Yes, sir."

"It occurs to me we haven't had you over for supper yet. I think we should. Is there a night that works best for you?"

Darry doesn't say anything, but I know he's surprised by the slight widening of his eyes. He glances at me. "I usually have Sundays off," he suggests tentatively.

"Next Sunday then," my dad says. "I'll let you two get on with your evening. Diana, I'll see you by midnight and not a second later."

* * *

"You don't have to come to supper if you'd rather not," I tell Darry as we drive to the theater. "I know you like to keep Sundays for your brothers."

Darry shrugs. "I'm sure I can sacrifice an evening, Diana." He glances over at me. "Do you not want me to come?"

"Of course I want you there."

"Okay then," he says. And that's the end of it. We fall silent for a few minutes, but then he clears his throat. "How's work?"

"Oh it's fine. Great, actually."

"You don't have much longer there, do you?"

I bite my lip. "Well, actually Henry asked me to continue. He says they can work around my class schedule if I stay."

"D'you think you'll do it?"

"My dad doesn't like it." My mom does, but now I have to wonder if it's just because she thinks Henry might marry me one day.

Another silence, and then he tries again. "So, uh, read any good books lately?"

 _He's trying_ , I realize with a start. Of course he'd choose the one night I'm out of sorts to start, but it's better than nothing. Immediately I lift my head and smile over at him. " _Doctor Down Under,"_ I say. "It was wonderful."

"Romance novels? I'm pretty sure they're rottin' your brain." He's been teasing me about my taste in books since high school.

"I'll have you know I only read the most _serious_ literature."

"Yeah, I've heard _Doctor Down Under_ is this generation's _War and Peace_." He pauses for a second. "Guess they don't write romance novels about roofers, huh?"

I shake my head. "Have you considered piracy?"

"Uh, no."

"Oh." I think. "Well I guess it's too late for you to be born the prince of a small desert kingdom."

"Guess so." He's trying to look serious, but the corner of his mouth is twitching. Finally he gives up trying to conceal it and grins at me. "You're crazy, you know that right?"

I slide across the seat, skirt riding up as I do. I see his eyes drop down briefly before they snap back to the road, and then he swallows hard. I suppress a giggle, lean my head on his shoulder. Paul and my mother feel a million miles away.

* * *

"D'you want some popcorn?" Darry asks. The theater is crowded tonight, a sudden summer storm having sprouted up and making the drive-in less of an attractive option.

I nod. "Please."

I stand with him for a second, but then I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. When I come back, I have to search the crowd to find him again, but when I finally see him, I stop dead. There, talking to my boyfriend and batting her eyelashes most alluringly, is his ex-girlfriend Priscilla.

I watch for a second. I'd forgotten how pretty Priscilla is. Her brunette hair is perfectly straight and shiny, and her green eyes sparkle. What's more, she has this neat trick of speaking in a low voice meaning whomever she's talking to (usually a male) has to lean in to hear her since she's so petite. She takes this opportunity to sort of thrust her breasts up and out, and that's one area where she isn't petite. It's a trick I'm too tall to ever master. Not that I have the breasts for it anyway. But I do have other assets. I dart back in the bathroom and roll my skirt up a few inches.

Once that's done, I make my way over to Darry and Priscilla. I'd like to think Darry is too smart to fall for Priscilla's tricks, but there he is leaning over and getting an eyeful. _Typical_. I come up behind him and wrap my arms around him.

"Hey Priscilla!" I say, looking over Darry's shoulder and straight down into milky white cleavage. _Good grief_.

"Diana!" Her pretty green eyes widen, but her voice rises a few decibels and her breasts retreat just a bit."I didn't know you two were together!"

"Yes, we are." We smile at each other, but it's all pretend. I come around to Darry's side, so that she can see the ring she flung into the night displayed around my neck. I give her a second to look at the two of us, happily together, before I pull at Darry's arm. "Come on, honey. Our movie starts soon."

"It was nice seeing you again, Darrel," Priscilla says sweetly.

"You too," Darry says, before he has to rush to catch up to me. "Hey, did your skirt get shorter?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He holds the door open for me, and we duck inside the theater. "Yes, you do. I'm almost positive it reached your knees when I picked you up. You've rolled it up, haven't you?"

I pick a spot in the middle of the theater to sit, and Darry obligingly follows me with the popcorn. "I don't know what you mean."

We sit. "Diana, are you… jealous?"

I want to deny it, to say that it isn't possible for me to be jealous of a top heavy midget like Priscilla, but if nothing else, he deserves my honesty. "Perhaps. A little."

"Oh." He says. He lowers his voice as the lights dim. "I'd never-" he breaks off, and I wonder if it's just me who hears the accusatory _but you would_.

"Like you'd have time for it anyway." I joke, trying to ease the tension.

"Ain't that the truth," he says, and then we fall silent as the movie starts.

The silence lasts five minutes, which is approximately when the first kernel of popcorn hits the back of my head.

"What in the world?" I touch the back of my head and turn around.

"You okay?" Darry asks.

"Popcorn just hit me."

Darry glances behind him. "I don't see anyone-" he starts, until a kernel sails up and hits him in the face.

Someone behind us laughs, and then another kernel of popcorn hits my boyfriend. More laughter follows, and then more popcorn. Darry turns around, trying to ignore them and watch the movie, but I can tell he's pissed.

"Who is it?" I ask, uncertainty making my voice waiver just a bit.

"My brother and his stupid friends," Darry answers. He glances over at me and I guess he can tell I'm a little worried, because he puts his arm around me. "It's nothing."

Another piece of popcorn hits him in the back of the head.

I glance back. A kernel hits me on the forehead and then drops down into my shirt.

It's hard to say what happens after that. Red-faced and exceptionally angry now, Darry grabs a fistful of popcorn and launches it behind him. The answering volley covers us and the two rows in front of us. Darry stand up, swears, and throws the entire bag at his friends. It hits one of them dead in the chest, and magnificently explodes into a shower of popcorn.

And that's how we end up getting thrown out of the movie theater and asked not to come back.

* * *

"I've never been thrown out of anywhere before," I muse, as Darry and I hightail it to his truck.

He doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to. The look of absolute mortification on his face says it all.

"Hey, Superman! Wait for us!" One of his friends, calls. His friend looks familiar.

"Isn't that Two-Bit Mathews?" I ask. I had a couple of classes with him his first round of junior year. He was perfectly awful, even if sometimes he was funny. He'd steal everything that wasn't nailed down, and I was pretty sure he'd been arrested a few times too. "I didn't know you were friends with him."

Darry walks a little faster. He opens the car door for me, and I catch a blur as his brother Sodapop tries to dart inside. Darry reaches into the car and grabs his brother by the collar. I flinch a little as the younger Curtis goes sailing out of the car, Darry tossing him as easily as he ever tossed a football.

"Get in," Darry orders me.

I do, and the door slams shut. I watch as Darry appears to threaten his brother, Two-Bit, and another of his slouchy friends. I study them carefully. I thought my mom was exaggerating when she called his friends hoods, but maybe she was telling me the truth. His brother is alright, I quite like Soda, but Two-Bit and boy with the swirls look like the kind of guys Lucy and I would cross the street to avoid being harassed by. Maybe it shouldn't surprise me that Darry is friends with these guys, but it does.

"I'm sorry," Darry finally says when he finishes chewing out his friends and climbs back into the car. "That was not how I wanted tonight to go." He realizes I'm staring hard at him, and he looks uncertain for a moment. "Everything okay?"

He's still Darry, even if his friends are somewhat suspect, I remind myself. He's Darry and I love him. "Everything is fine." I don't like thinking about his friends, so I change the subject. "Why did you and Priscilla break up?"

Darry almost drops the keys he's holding. "What?"

"Priscilla," I say slowly. "Why did the two of you break up?"

"Why the hell you need to know that?" Darry blusters.

"You know everything about _my_ past relationship," I point out.

"I didn't ask to," he mutters. "You think I _like_ having firsthand knowledge of you and Paul?"

"He came by today. My mom made him lunch."

Darry's lip curls. "That why your dad invited me for supper?"

"No, actually. He doesn't know." I clear my throat. "You ought to know Paul can't resist a challenge."

"Yeah." He sounds bitter.

"I hardly spoke to him. Nothing happened."

"I believe you." Silence pervades the car, and neither one of us bothers to fill it. I think maybe we'll spend the rest of the night just driving around in silence, when he finally says, "it was you."

"Me?" I ask, confused. "What about me?"

"Why Priscilla and I broke up," he explains patiently. "It was you. I said your name during… a rather inopportune time. She didn't like it much."

"No kidding," I murmur. I smooth out my skirt, trying not to smile. Darry likes me best, he's always liked me best. I put my hand on Darry's shoulder, made reckless by the smug pleasure warming my belly. "I love you."

It's the first time I've made the conscious decision to say it, and I tell myself I don't care if he says it back. But I know I'm a liar, and the relief I feel when he mutters "I love you, too." is almost palpable.

"Well don't sound so happy about it," I tease.

"If you want poetry and fancy words you're with the wrong guy, Diana." He sighs. "But hell, I do love you."

I hide my face in my hand so he can't see the grin that threatens to split my face in two. But I'm pretty sure he can still see it, because he rolls his eyes and says, "you're so silly."

"I know." I say, but it's muffled against my hand.

"I still don't have shit to offer you. Apparently I can't even take you to the movies anymore."

I giggle. "I don't care. I don't care at all. I just want you. I want to be with you. Say it again."

"I don't have shit to offer you."

"Not that part!"

He laughs. "I love you."

I tuck myself against him, and this is the happiest I can ever remember being in my entire life. "I love you, too."

* * *

 **A/N: So clearly it has been a while. I've had a super busy month, but hopefully my next update doesn't take as long. If you're still reading along, thank you.**


	20. Chapter 20

I'm lying in bed with my eyes nearly closed, listening to Diana's soft voice reading out loud. In the distance, thunder rolls, and I know we're in for another round of storms again tonight. It's been storming for the past week, so severely that I haven't been able to go to work for a few days now. It's starting to get to me. The stress of it, I mean. That's why Diana is reading to me, she thinks it might help me sleep.

"'I could feel the blood racing in my veins,'" she reads. "I could feel the blood racing in my veins, my heart pounding and the juices of life starting up in my gut. Power, power, power! Up here where the world was like a toy beneath me. Where I held the stick like," she gasps and breaks off, slamming shut my copy of _The Carpetbaggers._

"What's the matter?" I ask. "I was almost asleep."

"This book is filthy," she whispers, dark eyes wide.

I have to bite the corner of my mouth to keep from laughing. "Is it?"

"You knew it was when you handed it to me, Darrel!" She opens the book again, flipping through it, then looks at me in horror. "Does he sleep with his _stepmother_?"

"Keep reading, let's find out."

She flips through a few more pages. "This book is _obscene_."

"It's my favorite." I frown at her. "I think it's a stirring commentary on the morals of our time."

"I don't think it's your morals that are stirring." She takes one last look before shaking her head and shutting the book. "Why can't you just leaf through Playboy like a normal pervert?"

"Would you rather read me Playboy? I've got some stashed-"

"Under your mattress," she finishes for me, rolling her eyes. "That's where Henry keeps his, too."

"How the hell do you know where Henry Abernathy keeps his Playboys?" I struggle to sit up, careful to keep the sheet wrapped around my waist.

She bats her eyes at me. "Jealous?"

"Do I got reason to be?"

"Of course not." Her eyes drop to the bed. "Not of Henry or anybody else."

After a second I settle back down on the bed and she follows suit, resting her head on my shoulder. "So how'd you find 'em?"

"He used to go to parties without us, me and Lucy that is. And it used to make us so mad! We were in junior high at the time, and thought we were big enough to go party with the big, bad football players." She giggles, maybe because now she's in bed with one of those big, bad football players she wanted to party with so badly. "But Henry would never take us! So every time he left, we'd raid his room. We thought if we studied enough Playboy that when we got to high school the boys would find us irresistible."

"Learn anything?" I ask.

"You tell me," she says, and she stretches up to kiss me.

The door to my room flies open. Diana shrieks and dives underneath the covers.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Two-Bit! Can't you _knock_?" I leave the front door open for them to wander in at any time of day: I draw the line at having the same thing happen to my bedroom. "What in hell-"

"Dally got arrested."

"Why?"

Two-Bit shrugs, eyeing Diana whose head has now re-emerged over the covers. He knows, but it's okay. I agree that Diana doesn't need to know.

The last thing I want to do is leave my warm bed and naked girlfriend to go bail Dallas Winston out of jail. Especially with the weather the way it is. The one thing that makes me feel around the floor for some clothes to throw on is the thought of my mom. Mom liked Dally for some inexplicable reason. Mom would want me to go get Dally out of jail.

Diana touches my shoulder. "Do you want me to call my dad?"

 _Good God, that's the last thing I want._ "No."

I pull on the pants I wore yesterday and a clean shirt. Diana adjusts the sheet around her body and gives me an imploring look, and even though she hasn't looked at him since he walked in, Two-Bit seems to grasp the problem as well. He steps into the hallway, closing the door behind him, leaving us alone in my bedroom.

Diana drops the sheet, and I wish I wasn't so occupied at the moment so I could maybe appreciate it some more. But I'm already running numbers in my head, trying to figure out how in hell I'm gonna afford this. The near constant thunderstorms this week have kept me from going to work, so all I've had to fall back on is my job stocking shelves at the hardware store. That one doesn't pay nearly as much.

Diana pulls her shirt over her head. "Darry," she asks softly. "Do you… need anything?"

 _She means money._ I give a sharp shake of my head. The last thing I want is to take money from her.

She pushes her legs through her skirt. "You can pay me back."

My throat is dry and tight. I hate Dally for putting me in this position. "Okay," I say through clenched teeth, swallowing my pride. I could almost choke on it.

She goes to her purse and pulls out her wallet. I try not to resent that she doesn't even count the bills she pulls out and thrusts at me. "Is that enough?"

 _What kind of man bums money from his girl?_ I ask myself bitterly. "Should be."

"You'll pay me back," she reminds me.

I shove the money in my pockets as a loud rumble of thunder gives voice to a mood I can't quite find words to express. "Sure will. You'll be okay driving home in this?"

"Sure will." She echoes. She sees the worry on my face and smiles softly. "I'll drive really slow, promise."

"I'll call you tomorrow morning."

I kiss her before she leaves. Her hard earned money feels like it's burning a hole straight through my pocket and into my skin, branding me. _Pathetic_. _Worthless_.

"I love you," she tells me. I mutter a reply, and then she throws open my bedroom door. "He's all yours now," she tells Two-Bit.

Diana tries to hide it, but she's got my book tucked under her arm as she leaves. Even though I don't much want to, it makes me smile. "Don't think I don't see that," I call after her.

She pretends not to hear me.

"Ready?" Two-Bit asks. He's staring after Diana, not like he's checking her out or anything, but like he can't quite figure her out. Well, that makes two of us.

I shake my head. "Not yet."

* * *

There's one thing I have to do before I leave, and that's tell my brothers where I'm going. As I open the door to their bedroom I hear the engine of Diana's mother's Buick start up, and then the sound of her driving away. My hand hovers above the doorknob of my brothers' room, and there's just a second where I feel real regret for sending her away. I don't know why, and it's gone as I twist the knob and survey my sleeping brothers.

They're sprawled out on their bed, Sodapop taking up most of the bed while Pony hovers on the edge. The last time I woke them up in the middle of the night it was to tell them about Mom and Dad, a memory that sickens me as I look at them now.

It was a night like this, only colder. It was snowing. I'd fallen asleep in the armchair after sending my brothers to bed, the first decision I made after my parents were dead, only I didn't know it just then. And then the knock on the door, the police telling me about the accident, and finally waking my brothers up to tell them. It was the night a bottomless pit of anger opened up, my own personal Vesuvius awaiting eruption. _How could my parents be so stupid?_

"Hey," I shake Sodapop awake, mostly because he's easier to deal with. He won't ask a hundred questions or be a brat just because I'm shaking him awake. But as always, where Soda goes Pony follows, and it isn't long before both of them are awake and staring at me.

"What's wrong?" Soda asks. He throws his arm around Ponyboy.

"Dally's been arrested." I don't bother beating around the bush. "Two-Bit and I are going down to the jail to get him out."

Soda knows enough about our bills and shit to wonder where I'm going to get the money, but he doesn't ask in front of Ponyboy. We both put a lot of effort into pretending things are okay in front of our kid brother. But I pat my pocket so he knows I've got it covered. Ponyboy, oblivious as always, doesn't notice.

"What'd he get hauled in for?" Ponyboy asks.

"I don't know yet." The bed creaks dangerously as I shift my weight. It's not really big enough for all of us on it.

"Vandalism," Two-Bit offers from the doorway. I turn around, unaware he followed me. "He broke a bunch of windows down at the school."

The school year starts in only a couple weeks. That's going to be expensive to replace in such a short time span.

"That's dumb," Ponyboy says contemptuously, echoing my thoughts.

Two-Bit sighs. "Yeah."

A streak of lightning outside lights up the room. It gives Ponyboy's green eyes an almost unearthly glow, and he seems much older than fourteen when he asks me, "You'll be okay, Dar?"

I nod, smile, pretend my dad didn't say the same thing when I asked him the same question all those months ago. "I'll be fine."

* * *

"It was me," Two-Bit confesses when we're alone in my truck and inching our way to the police station. Dally's probably getting roughed up by the cops at this very moment, he has no friends among Tulsa's finest, but it won't help anyone if I get in an accident on the way there. If Two-Bit minds, he keeps it to himself.

"What was you?" I can barely see the road and I'm about to have a nervous breakdown. _I sent Diana home alone in this_ , I think. It occurs to me then that I could have followed behind her, made sure she got home okay, but I didn't think about it. I'm as bad as Ponyboy sometimes, I swear.

"I broke the windows," Two-Bit says. He sounds miserable.

 _Of all the stupid things..._ "Not happy about your third tour of junior year?" It's a snide comment because I'm pissed about being out tonight, and Two-Bit doesn't answer it. "Sorry," I say after a second.

"S'okay." It's not really, but what are we going to do? With no beer at hand he tries to make a joke. "I can't believe Dally's gettin' all the credit for my hard work."

"I bet. So how'd Dally end up gettin' blamed?

"The cops busted Buck's again while Dally, Johnny, and me were there. Dally started mouthing off, you know how he gets." I nod. I do know. "Well, that was all the fuzz needed to remember that someone had busted some windows earlier, and wouldn't you know Dally fit the description almost perfectly?"

I snort. "What description? Generic hood?"

"Oh, probably." Two-Bit starts to sound more cheerful. "You know, this has gotta be the only thing Dally's ever been accused of that he hasn't actually done."

"What happened to Johnny? Did he get hauled in too?"

"Nah. Dally sent him out the back door as soon as the cops pulled up."

"And the two of you didn't think to do the same?"

"Dally had just won a bunch of money from Shepard. He wanted to make sure ol' Tim paid up."

"Right." I grit my teeth, glad I have to clutch the wheel to steer through this pouring rain, because I'm so close to tearing out my hair right now. "Dally know he's takin' the fall for you?"

"Yep." He doesn't say anything else.

We pull up in front of the jail, and get nearly soaked to the bone racing to the entrance. Greasers don't looks so tough when they're wet, and looking at Two-Bit makes me feel a little smug that I don't grease my hair. With the grease almost washed out of it, Two-Bit's hair is much redder and it hangs over his ears. _He looks like a Beatle,_ I think, and then I laugh to myself.

I've got just enough to bail Dally out for vandalism, which is a relief. The only thing worse than taking money from my girlfriend would be having to go back for more.

Dally comes out, swearing up a blue streak and hair sticking up. He doesn't like hair grease either. His lip is split, and even though I guess Shepard or someone could have done it, I think it means I was right about the cops roughing him up.

It's crowded in my truck during the ride back, but the rain has slacked off so it doesn't bother me that much. Dally is cussing out every cop in the city, using words I've never heard. And I work construction, so I've heard a lot. We're about halfway home when he turns to me and says, "Thank you." It sounds painful, but he says it.

"You're welcome."

"I got the dough, soon as I get it from Shepard I'll give it to you."

"Don't give it to him," Two-Bit laughs. "Give it to his banker."

It takes Dally a second, but then he sneers, all hint of humility gone. "She payin' you now for services rendered?"

It's Two-Bit, not me, who cuffs him upside the head. "You lost your damn mind? You think any of us are sittin' on some pile of cash to come bail you out at a moment's notice? Who cares where the money came from?"

"I wouldn't have needed bailing out if it weren't for you," Dally snaps. "And I'd rather be sittin' in jail being worked over than owe some West Side bitch a buck or two."

Even though he just implied I'm whoring myself out for cash and called the girl I love a bitch, his anger just seems so over the top that it's funny. Maybe I'm just exhausted. Or maybe I know it's damaged his pride as much as it has mine to need a loan from Diana. "I'll take you back then," I offer. "Ask for a refund."

"Can you do that?" Two-Bit asks.

"Dunno. Maybe you should break some windows on the way back. We can tell 'em that Dally just can't control himself and they can re-arrest him."

Two-Bit nods. "Won't Diana be expecting you to pay her back?"

"I'll just render more services."

It's Two-Bit who laughs first, and his strange hyena like yelp sets me off too. Only Dally is still scowling, arms crossed and looking at the rain pelting the windshield. But even that seems funny to me, so I don't much care.

We pull up to my house just as the floodgates start to open again. Two-Bit slides out first, making a mad dash for the house where one of my brothers throws open the door for him. Dally starts to follow, but I throw an arm out to stop him.

"I don't know what your problem with Diana is, but you're gonna knock it off right now, you hear me?"

Dally is unimpressed. "State didn't put you in charge of me, Darry."

I don't back down. "Knock it off."

"You think she's gonna stick around once she figures out what part of town you're really from? She's gonna bounce right back into whatever rich boy's bed she fell out of, and you'll be the one left holding the bag." It's my secret fear he's giving voice to, and for a second I wish I'd just left him rotting in his jail cell.

"You call her a bitch again and I'll break your nose."

"Just wait." He sounds cocky. "You'll be calling her worse." And then, so quick I think maybe I imagine it, he says, "thanks for comin' to get me out." And then he slams the door shut behind him.

A loud crack of thunder sounds. My head spins. It's strange, as awful as he's being, I think Dally is actually trying to help me in his own way. But he doesn't realize that Diana isn't like any of those West Side girls. She's not like Sylvia and her kind either. She's just… herself.

I have to call her.

* * *

I wait a few hours of course, giving the sun time to rise, and then I dial her at work. She answers on the first ring.

"It's me," I say, and just hearing her voice takes away some of the worry I was feeling. "I just wanted to make sure you got home okay."

"I told you I would," she says. "You off again today?"

"What do you think?" This damned weather won't quit. "It rains any longer I'm going to start building an ark."

"Just think of all those people who've just discovered leaks in their roofs," she teases. "You'll be working overtime for the next month."

"Is that supposed to be comforting?"

"It's supposed to be a fact," she says pertly. "Just wait."

I chuckle. "If you say so." I hear Henry's voice and Diana's laughing reply. "Is he asking about the state of his girlie magazines?"

"Oh, hush."

"You read anymore of _The Carpetbaggers_ yet?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she sniffs.

"Liar. I saw you take it."

"To _burn_ it. It's awful."

I smile, rub my eyes. I'm so damned tired after last night, but I waited up to call her because I knew I wasn't getting up once I closed my eyes. "I love you."

"'A man says a lot of things when he's humping,'" she quotes.

Well that wakes me right up. "So you _are_ reading it."

"It fell open on the way home. I might have gotten a glimpse of a page or two." I hear Henry's voice again, and Diana laughs again. "I've got to go. Henry wants to go visit his site in Sapulpa while the builders aren't there."

"Have fun. See you tonight?" I try not to sound too eager. "You can bring my book back to me."

"Maybe. Yes, Henry! I'm coming!" She makes a noise of frustration. "I have really got to go. I love you."

"I love you too. And not just because I'm humping you." And without waiting for her to reply I hang up.

Soda come out of the kitchen, staring at me like I've got a second head. My ears burn, but I try to play it cool by crossing my arms. "You got a problem?"

"You're lucky I'm not Pony, you'd scar him for life with your talk about humping."

"Oh please, like he's never heard you and Steve go on about girls before."

"Yeah, but Pony ain't scared of _me_." Soda shakes his head. "To hell with Pony, I think _I'm_ scarred for life."

I stand up stretch. "You'll get over it. I'm goin' to bed. If another one of our friend's gets arrested, _you_ handle it."

* * *

It's dark outside when I wake up, and I guess I needed the sleep, but I'm mad that I wasted an entire day in bed. When I grab my watch, I'm surprised to see that it's already past midnight. _I slept thirteen hours_ , I think to myself, and considering there are days when I barely manage three or four it seems incredible.

What's also surprising is that Diana is nowhere to be found. I sniff the pillow beside me, wondering if maybe she showed up and I didn't wake up, but the pillows don't have that floral smell I've come to associate with her. It's strange, the bed feels empty without her. She's here most nights of the week and I've gotten used to it. Maybe the thunderstorms kept her away.

 _It's only midnight, she could still show up_ , I comfort myself by thinking. And I drift back to sleep.

* * *

Diana hasn't shown up by morning, and I start to get a feeling in the pit of my stomach. It doesn't make any sense to me. It's not like she's here every single night or anything. But this time I just can't shake the feeling that something is very, very wrong.

 _Stop it_ , I order myself. I'm just feeling this way because I was thinking so much about my parents the other night. I didn't want her driving in all that rain anyway. I force down the bile that climbs the back of my throat and start breakfast.

"You goin' to work today?" Ponyboy asks me as he takes a plate of eggs and toast from me.

I glance out the window. The sun looks like it might be trying to make an appearance. "Hope so,"

The phone rings just as I'm turning off the stove. "Somebody get that!" I holler, even though I know it's for me.

I'm right. It's my boss, and after almost a week of sitting at home twiddling my thumbs, I'm back to work. And Diana was right, I'm going to be getting a lot of overtime.

* * *

Diana occupies my mind while I hammer away at shingles. It's not good: It's still slippery up there, and I almost fall while carrying up a heavy bundle of roofing because I'm thinking so much about her. Luckily it's a small house. I'm working with two other guys and between the three of us we manage to get it done by the end of the day.

I end up in front of Diana's house after work before I've actually made the decision to go there. There's a blue cadillac in her driveway, and that twisting feeling of worry is replaced by a sharp stab of anger. I'd know that car anywhere: Paul Holden has expensive tastes.

"Is Diana home?" I ask her mother.

In my anger I guess I forgot that I was nothing more than a smelly, dirty, roofer coming to her house after putting in a long day's work under a hot August sun, but the wrinkle of her nose reminds me real quick. I had thought we were okay after I can to supper, she was nothing but polite to me that night, but now I've reminded her that I'm not good enough for her daughter and she's back to hating me I guess.

"Diana is home," her mother says frostily. "But she should be resting. She doesn't need visitors."

I grit my teeth. _I know Paul is here_ , I want to say. Instead I ask, "is she okay?"

"Diana was in a car accident," her mother says, and that's the only thing I hear before I push past her and go find Diana. I'm rude, I know, but I need to see Diana so bad right then that I can't help it.

She's in her bed, propped up on pillows. She's got a bandage on her forehead, and it looks like she's got some stitches in her arm, but other than that she looks okay. Most importantly, she's alive. She's alive, she's breathing, and her eyes light up when she sees me walk in.

"I called you!" She says before I can say anything. "Your brother said you'd gone to work."

"I ain't been home yet." I jam my hands in my pocket. "What the hell happened?"

"Nice language," Paul mocks. In my relief at seeing Diana I almost missed him sitting at the foot of her bed. "Do you need anything babe?"

Diana huffs. "I've told him to go away but he won't listen."

Paul grins and pats her foot. "You've got a head wound, you don't know what you're saying."

"What happened?" I demand again, sitting down in front of Paul and blocking him from Diana's sight. I take her hand. The warm weight of it is comforting.

"Henry and I were coming back from Sapulpa yesterday-"

I don't let her finish. "Was he drunk?"

"No," she lies. Or maybe she's not lying. My mom split the same hairs.

"Had he been drinking?"

She glances around to make sure her mom can't overhear, and then she nods. Paul's rough intake of breath assures me that he had no idea either.

"Why did you get in the car with him?" I choke out, and it isn't just her I'm asking. "Why couldn't you just call me? I was home. I would have come to get you."

Diana's pretty face twists in confusion. "I thought it would be fine."

I make a little noise of disbelief. "You thought it would be fine to get in a car with a drunk guy? To have him drive you home in a rainstorm? For the love of God, why would you get in the car with Henry and think it would be fine?"

Her answer, when it comes, might as well come from beyond. "Because it was fine every other time."

I pull my hand away from her and use it to cradle my head. I don't want Paul to see the naked emotion there on my face. "You could have died." It comes out muffled, and maybe she can't understand me, and maybe that's a good thing. "I could be going to your _funeral_ next week."

"I'm sorry. I really am." And then she starts to cry.

"Asshole," Paul mutters behind me.

"Nice language," I retort, not even bothering to turn and look at him. Diana looks pitiful crying there, and I guess Paul isn't wrong. I am an asshole. But I'm damned scared because for the first time I see her as just one more thing to lose, one more thing to make me hurt.

Just as I'm trying to figure out how to convey all of this to Diana without looking like an idiot in front of Paul, her mother bustles in. "Diana, I just finished arranging all of these _beautiful_ flowers Paul brought you. I'll just leave them on your dresser alright?"

"That's a lovely vase, Mrs. Hayes," Paul says.

"You-" I start, before breaking off. Diana's mom probably wouldn't appreciate me telling Paul he's full of shit, especially when she seems to be falling for it.

Diana wipes her eyes and rolls her eyes at me. I grin, give her hand a squeeze, hope it lets her know that I'm not mad. She smiles back softly, and I think it means I'm forgiven

"I'm so glad you called me," Paul continues speaking to Mrs. Hayes, and I know it's just for my benefit. He's letting me know he's got Mrs. Hayes in his corner, which is fine with me because Diana is the one I want, and I think I've got a solid win there. He can keep her mom. "I enjoyed taking care of Diana."

Mrs. Hayes beams at Paul. "And I'm so thankful you were able to rush right over." She fluffs Diana's pillows and takes a second to glare at me (I'm getting Diana's pretty yellow bedspread dirty, I notice, blackening it with grime and sweat) before flouncing out of the room.

"Laying it on a bit thick, aren't you?" Diana asks, saying what I'm thinking.

Paul shrugs. "Your mom did call me to take care of you so she could go get her hair done. That's not my fault. I missed football practice for this."

"I've seen Frank Wallis play," Diana reminds him. "It's not like you'll be winning any games this year. You could skip every practice and it wouldn't make a bit of difference."

"Wallis isn't a bad player," Paul argues.

"He's not," I agree. As jealous as I am that Frank Wallis gets to play what should be my position, I have to be honest. And football distracts niceley from the thoughts and emotions swirling around in my head. "He'd be okay if he'd stop telegraphing ever throw he's gonna make."

Paul nods. "Yeah, he's pretty decent at timing his throws, and he's one of the fastest runners I've ever seen."

"Well you can't train him into common sense," Diana says stubbornly, more out of loyalty to me I think than any fairness to Frank Wallis. "If he doesn't have the instincts, he just doesn't have them."

It's just like old times, really, the three of us sitting around discussing football. But then Paul makes a noise of disgust saying, "Good God, you stink, Darrel," and just like that we're back in our new reality.

Diana struggles to sit up. "It's called a hard day's work, Paul, not that you'd know anything about that."

"And after a summer spent rolling up your skirts for the old guys down at Abernathy Enterprises you think you're an expert on hard work?" Paul laughs. "Give me a break."

 _Rolling up your skirts for the old guys?_ I have so many questions for Diana right about now, but before I can get any of them out, her mother comes back. "Paul, sweetie, did you want to stay for supper?"

"I'm feeling awfully tired, Mama," Diana says, sinking back into her pillows and looking helpless. "I don't think I'm up to much more company."

Mrs. Hayes wrings her hands, concerned for her daughter. "Are you alright, darling? Can I get you anything?"

"Oh no, but I think I'd better say goodbye to my friends for the evening."

Her mother looks absolutely thrilled that this means I'll be leaving, even if it means she'll be losing her favored candidate for Diana's hand. She consoles herself by saying, "Paul, perhaps another time?"

Paul nods enthusiastically. "Sounds great, Mrs. Hayes."

"I'm sorry," Diana says when her mom leaves. "I just can't stand the thought of having supper with him. I can't take anymore."

"I'm right here," Paul protests.

Diana looks past me. "I can't stand the thought of having supper with you. I can't take anymore."

"I'm not that bad!"

Diana raises her eyebrows. "You're fawning all over my mom! Maybe you should have dated _her_ , not me."

Paul laughs. "Hey, your mom is great! I can't help she loves me."

"Just 'cause your mom is crazy doesn't mean you can come over here and suck up to mine," Diana snaps.

Immediately the atmosphere in the room changes. It's like all the air just got sucked out. Diana pales, and the laughter in Paul's face dies. He gets to his feet.

Diana pleads, "Paul, Paul, I'm sorry!" But it's too late because he walks out without another word or even a glance behind him.

We stare at each other. "Is his mom really crazy?" I ask after a second. I try to remember what he told me about her. I never saw her much. A bad heart, Paul always said. Constantly sick. But was it the truth?

Diana shrugs. Old loyalties die hard, I guess, and I don't care for the look of real regret I see in her face. She picks at a spot of dirt I've left on her bedspread. "You'd better go too, before my mom has a fit."

"Yeah." I swallow hard. "You gonna be okay?"

"Of course. I'm sorry I scared you."

"S'okay. I love you."

"I love you too," she answers. But she won't look at me.

I guess there's more than one way to lose somebody.


	21. Chapter 21

"I'm moving out," I say to my dad first thing in the morning. He's still sitting at the kitchen table, orange juice in hand as he reads the morning paper.

When he hears me speak, he looks up from his paper, still chewing his toast. "Diana, who pays for school?"

I sit down, cross my arms. "You do."

"And how do you plan to pay for it if you move out?"

"With a job." I pause. "Or I could just drop out. Art is a useless major anyway, it's not like I'm training to be the next Van Gogh." Everyone knows it's a glorified MRS degree. At best I'll end up teaching a bunch of snot nosed kids how to finger-paint.

The metallic clang of my mother dropping the spatula makes both of us look at her. "I told you that boy was a bad influence!"

My father doesn't say anything. He knows, even if my mother doesn't, that this is all me. "Does Darrel know you're thinking of dropping out?" He asks.

"No." I twist the necklace Darry's class ring hangs on, tightening it around my neck. My dad doesn't need to tell me that a man who was forced to drop out of college isn't going to be on board with my plan to voluntarily leave.

My father smiles, eyes going back to his paper. "You're not moving out. If you're that eager to spend money, I'd be more than happy to charge you rent." My mother places a tray of bacon on the table. "And food. Don't forget to leave a tip, your mother works hard!" And then he laughs at his own joke.

My mother hides a smile as she goes back to the stove. I roll my eyes. My dad knows I don't really want to drop out. I'll never get into law school without a degree, and I want to be a lawyer, not a secretary for the rest of my life.

"Dad," I say suddenly. "Do you know who Dallas Winston is?"

My dad chokes on his bacon. My mother rushes to refill his orange juice, and after he recovers he turns to me with angry eyes. "You haven't met him, have you?"

I shake my head. Dallas must be worse than I thought. "Of course not. I just heard the name from… Henry." I don't mind throwing him under the bus after what happened.

My father relaxes just a bit. "He's not someone you need to know."

Well that's not exactly helpful. I bite my lip. "Why not?"

"He's dangerous." He fixes me with a stern look, the one that only a very short time ago could terrify me immediately into obedience. "He's very dangerous. And if I find out you've been around him I will not be happy."

"I've never met him!" I'm not even lying.

"Keep it that way." My father folds up his paper. "Breakfast was delicious, Leah. Diana, help your mother clean up. I've got to go to work."

I do as my father asks. But as I take my father's dirty dishes to the sink to be washed, I contemplate what he's said. Dallas Winston is dangerous. Very dangerous. And Darry is so close to him that he'll get up in the middle of the night to help him.

I mull that over. And then I think: Dallas is out of jail now because of me. If he hurts someone now, will it be my fault?

* * *

When I get to the office, Henry is packing up his desk.

"What's going on?" I cry.

Henry doesn't look at me. He continues putting his things into boxes. "My father is sending me away."

My mouth drops open. "But, he can't do that!"

"It would appear that he can," Henry says tersely. For the first time he raises his head, and I see that his face is a mass of bruises.

"Good grief, I didn't realize you got hurt so badly in the accident." I show him my arm. "I got twelve stitches."

Henry shakes his head. "This didn't happen in the accident." He touches the split in his lip, running his hand over it. "Darrel Curtis doesn't like me being so careless with his things."

I flinch at being classified as one of Darry's 'things', but I try to focus on the heart of what he's saying. "Darry did that?"

"Don't look so impressed with him." Henry throws a folder into his box with particular vigor. "Really, Diana. He could have killed me. If Teddy and Cal hadn't been there he might have tried."

"Teddy and Cal?" I'm horrified, that's three against one and surely not even Darrel Curtis can defy those odds. "He's not hurt, is he?"

"Nah." Henry wipes his forehead with a sleeve, having worked up a sweat throwing around his files. "Cal tried jumping in and Darry damn near threw him out a window. Teddy said I deserved it, and if it had been Lucy he'd have done the same thing."

I breathe a little sigh of relief. "I didn't ask him to do that, Henry. I'm sorry."

"Not as sorry as you're going to be." He gives me a vindictive little smile. "You're fired."

* * *

Henry gives me a box so I can clear out the desk I've spent all summer working at.

"You didn't need to fire me. I put in my two weeks notice a week ago, I was leaving anyway."

"Yeah, but this is much more satisfying. A little something to look back on fondly when I'm drying out in New Mexico, or Nevada, or wherever my dad is sending me."

"You're a coward. You're too scared of Darry, so you're hurting me instead."

Henry just nods. "Yes. You're a smaller target and you can't hit back."

I pick up my address book with all my work related contacts in it. I spent all summer talking to people and making sure they knew the name Diana Hayes. If I'm going to have to search for a new job, those contacts might prove useful. I throw it into the box as well.

Henry doesn't bat an eyelash. He heaves himself on top of my now empty desk, swinging his feet as he looks at me. His freckles mixed with the bruises make him look like some grown up ne'er-do-well Howdy Doody. Looking at him, I remember the feeling of the car sliding all over the road, the glass breaking over my head, and the terrible confusion that followed. And finally, what Darry was trying to tell me sinks in.

"You could have killed me," I accuse him.

Guilt flickers in his eyes for just a second, and I see not Henry the alcoholic or Henry my boss, but Henry whom I've known since I was a toddler, the Henry who may as well be my brother. But just as I'm softening, the mask of arrogance comes back to his face.

"Don't be so melodramatic." He slides off the desk. "You've got ten minutes."

* * *

"Jesus," Darry says when I see him later that night. The shadows under his eyes are dark. He's been working a lot of overtime and probably needs to sleep. Instead, he's awake waiting for me. "I'm sorry. I didn't think he'd fire you."

I shrug, climbing into bed with him. "It's okay. It's not like I wasn't quitting anyway." I sigh. "It just occurred to me today that I could keep the job and move out."

"Move out?" Darry looks horrified, like I've just confessed to sacrificing infants to Moloch.

His reaction makes me hesitate. "Well, yeah. I'm nineteen now, I _had_ a job. I don't see why I shouldn't."

He studies my face. "And what about school?" I hesitate, and his look of horror intensifies. "Absolutely _not_."

"Well why not?" I ask, perplexed. "Don't you get tired of having to jump through my dad's hoops? You have to at least get tired of my mom treating you so poorly."

He's silent for a minute, but then he says, "Diana, they want what's best for you. Your dad is tryin' to keep you safe, and your mom thinks I'm not good enough for you. She's not wrong."

I frown. "She is."

"She's _not_. Not if you're seriously thinking about dropping out!" He looks away. "Jesus, maybe I _am_ a bad influence."

"You're not!" I assure him. He looks doubtful, but I continue. "Isn't it strange for _you?_ Having a girlfriend that has a strict curfew while you're working all day and raising two kids?"

"The curfew doesn't seem to be affecting you too much," he points out. "And it's not strange. It's… nice that they care about you so much."

I don't know how to argue about my overbearing parents with an orphan, so I bite my lip and change the subject. ""So you never did tell me what exactly Dally did."

"He didn't do anything."

"So the cops just arrested him because they could?"

"Yeah." He laughs harshly. "Sometimes they do that when you live over here."

I chew my lip, knowing he's right. But I also know my dad doesn't have those kind of prejudices. He grew up in a bad neighborhood himself. If he told me Dallas Winston is dangerous, it's because Dally is dangerous and has nothing to do with where he comes from.

"So this is the first time he's been arrested?" Silence. "Were all of those other times unjustified as well?"

"This isn't something I want to discuss with you." He's got his jaw clenched and his eyes are hard. For the first time ever, he scares me a little.

If I were smarter, I'd probably stop. But I can't. "I paid for his bail," I remind him.

"Believe me, I'm very aware of that." He exhales and I know he's trying to be patient with me. "What do you want me to say, Diana?"

"Is he dangerous?"

"He won't hurt _you_ ," Darry says flatly, confirming that what my dad said is true.

"Why are you friends with him?" I ask.

He swears under his breath. "I'm not having this conversation with you. Dallas is my friend because he's my friend. That's it."

 _But you're better than that_ , I want to say. Because he is. Darry is way too smart and way too good to have his friends be common criminals. He has to know that too, so I don't understand why he's defending them.

"I don't want to fight," I tell him.

Stubborn as always, Darry refuses to give an inch. "Then drop it."

My heart pounds in my chest, but I cross my arms anyway and try to glare at him. "He's a criminal. He's not even that nice to you. And you have him around your brothers-"

" _Don't_." Darry covers my mouth with his hand, eyes burning with anger. "Don't go there, Diana."

His hand is still on my mouth. I nod, eyes wide. It was a low blow to bring his brothers into the discussion. That's his breaking point then, the line I can't cross. I push his hand off of my mouth.

"Sorry." He clenches his jaw. "But Dally's a part of my life. We stick up for each other in this neighborhood. That's just how it is."

"Okay," I say, because what else can I say?

He looks at me, and maybe he sees something of the fear and uncertainty I'm feeling reflected on my face. His face softens. "C'mere," he says, and he kisses me.

There's no talking as he takes my dress off. There never is. _So we're back to this,_ I think wearily. Avoiding our problems, not talking to each other… I thought maybe things would change after he said he loved me, I thought maybe things had gotten better. But I guess not. I'm quiet as he spreads my legs apart, quiet as he takes his own shirt off and strips out of his pants.

"Diana," he asks me, brow furrowed. "You do want to do this, right?"

 _Coward_. The word springs to mind as I force myself to smile. "Of course." And I hold my arms out to him.

* * *

After he's done, Darry smoothes back my hair from my face. "I hate arguin' with you," he says, voice slurring with fatigue. "You know that? And it's so damned stupid, fightin' over Dally."

"I don't like fighting either," I say tentatively. "But I don't like how you shut me out of everything."

His hands, rough and calloused, trace lines over my stomach. He looks like he might doze off at any moment. "I just want to keep you out of this… keep you safe… protect you."

"Ignorance isn't safety," I argue gently. "I want to know these things."

He groans and buries his head against my shoulder. " _Please_ don't start again."

"What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid of anything," he insists. He rolls back over to his back, rubbing his eyes. "Christ, I'm tired."

I lick my lips. I love him. But I want to love all of him, not just this front he gives me. At least, I think that's what I want. Maybe that's what we're both afraid of, that he's not who he's pretending to be. I could promise him not to run from the truth of who he is, but what if I'm lying?

"Get some sleep," I tell him gently.

He smiles at me gratefully. "Love you."

"I love you, too."

* * *

Being fired by her brother makes it a little awkward to throw Lucy's bridal shower a few days later, but fortunately it's only a bridal shower for her friends so I don't have to deal with the entire Abernathy clan breathing down my neck. And Lucy sides with me.

"Henry is such an ass," she declares, sitting down in the seat of honor. It's really just my dad's armchair, but I've pulled it in front of the television and arranged a bunch of chairs around it.

Lucy sits still as I carefully pin a corsage to her chest. "Are you sure you want this?" I ask hesitantly. "I got the idea from my mom's _Better Homes and Gardens_ cookbook, but you don't have to wear it if you think it's too old fashioned."

"Of course I'll wear it!" Lucy exclaims. "You're such a dear to go to all this trouble for me. I'm sure Therese could have managed to have everyone at her house."

"But could we have managed with Therese?" I ask, naming Lucy's bossy eldest sister. I finish pinning the corsage and take a step back to look at her. Perfect. "Besides, I've never hosted a _real_ tea party before. It'd be a shame if all that practice with my stuffed animals went to waste."

Lucy grins. "Can you believe I'm getting married next week?"

"No." I leave it at that. Despite offering to throw her a bridal shower, I'm still not reconciled to this wedding.

Lucy looks stricken for a moment. She opens her mouth to say something, what I don't know, but shuts it almost immediately when there is a knock at the door. She straightens herself in the chair, touches her slicked back curls, and then gives me a nod. "I'm ready."

* * *

"Oh my goodness!" Lucy sounds shocked as she pulls a massive gilded statuette of three naked women out of a box. "How beautiful!"

I know Lucy well enough to know she's a lying liar, but Priscilla looks smug. "It's from West Germany," she says. "They're meant to be the three graces. I had my brother send it over. It's one of a kind."

"I certainly hope so." I peer at the three golden women as Priscilla cuts me a dirty look. On the paper where I'm keeping track of gifts I write down, _ugly statue - Priscilla._

Lucy, who can clearly see my list, bites her lip to keep from laughing. "Jealous," she mouths at me behind her hand. I pretend to ignore her. Because I'm not jealous in the way she thinks: Priscilla had a Darry I never knew, a Darry who probably never would have dreamed of putting his hand over her mouth and telling her to shut up. A Darry who probably never got thrown out of theaters or asked her for bail money to go get his hood friends out of jail. A Darry who probably never assaulted her boss and made her lose her job.

Just the thought of that night makes me feel sick. If Dally is so awful and dangerous that I'm not even allowed to hear about the things he's done, I really can't fathom why Darry is friends with him. But he _is_ friends with him, which leaves me with the uncomfortable truth that my boyfriend has far more of the East Side in him than I'm entirely comfortable with.

As Lucy pulls another gift out a bag ( _complicated kitchen gadget-Karen_ , I write on my sheet, not missing a beat) I start to wonder if everyone else is right is right about him and I'm just too blinded by love to see it.

* * *

Lucy offers to stay and help me clean up, a ploy I see through immediately. If she volunteers for labor, there's a reason behind it. And sure enough, as soon as the last guest leaves she sinks down into the armchair once more.

"I can't do this," she proclaims dramatically. "I have to see him."

For me, caught up in my own thoughts as I am, _him_ means Darry. "He's at work right now," I say. And I feel a twinge of guilt at the thought of him working hard while I think less than kind thoughts about him.

Lucy looks confused for a second, but then she laughs. "I don't mean Darry, stupid. I meant Teddy."

"Oh. _Oh._ " I glance at the pile of presents at her side. She's marrying Jimmy in a week. The invitations have been sent and the ballroom has been rented. In the eyes of most people she's as good as married; all that's left is a few words in a Church, a mere formality at this point. She was bought and paid for the minute she let Jimmy slip that diamond ring over her finger.

"He said he didn't want to see me until I was ready to call off the wedding. He said I couldn't have both him and Jimmy." Lucy sighed. "It's not like it's a hard choice for me, you know? But this wedding means so much to my dad. I didn't know if I could do that to him."

 _Past tense,_ I note. "You know now?"

Lucy nods. "Yeah, I mean, my dad isn't the one who has to live him him." She twists her engagement ring around her finger, the diamond glittering in the late afternoon light. "I want to see him."

"Then go see him," I tell her gently.

"You really think I should?"

I nod. "Of course."

She hugs me then, whispering in my ear, "you're the best friend ever!" And then she bounces out of the house looking more at peace than either she or I have in months.

That leaves the mess for me to clean up by myself then. I frown, looking around. And then I get to work.

* * *

I'm not alone for long.

I'm putting the dirty dishes in the sink when I hear a knock on my door. I rush to answer it, expecting it to be Lucy. Lucy, who'll be in tears because Teddy rejected her. Or because she's changed her mind. Or maybe because she's just plain confused. _Well won't that make two of us,_ I think.

But it isn't Lucy.

"Hey," Paul says, arms folded against his chest.

"I tried to call you! I tried to call you a lot, but you wouldn't answer! I am _so_ sorry-"

He holds his hand up. "He's sending her away."

"What? _Who's_ getting sent away?"

"My mother." His hands are shaking. "My dad's putting her in a hospital down in Oklahoma City. He's getting a divorce, so he doesn't want her around anymore you see."

"Paul…" I don't know what else to say.

"Can I come in?" He asks.

Darry wouldn't like it, but I can't send him away like this. I move aside, letting him into the house. He steps inside and looks around.

"Your parents aren't home?"

I swallow a remark about him and my mother, saying instead, "no, they left for the weekend. I threw Lucy's bridal shower and they wanted to give me a bit of privacy." In reality, I think my dad just didn't want to be around that many screaming teenage girls, but they framed it as a privacy issue. It was like they were trying to throw me a bone, trying to make amends for all the rules and restrictions I was forced to live with. I didn't know if it was working or not.

He drops down onto the couch and puts his head on his hands. The setting sun streams in through the windows, and as I sit down beside him our shadows mingle together, stretching out long and lean across the hardwood floor of my living room.

"He's sending her away," Paul says again. "He can't _do_ that."

"But.. why now?" I ask. "What's changed?"

"He met someone else," he says bitterly.

"But he and Mary have been together for ages-"

"No, someone _else_."

" _Oh_."

"So he's throwing my mom away." Paul laughs, but not like anything's funny. "I hate him."

I touch his shoulder. "You don't-"

"Mean that? Yeah, I do." Paul's eyes flash, and I swear he's the angriest I've ever seen him. "She's not _crazy_. She's just confused. She doesn't belong there with all those freaks."

"I know."

"I hate him." Paul balls up his fists, sinking them into the couch cushions. " _I hate him."_

My throat is tight. "I hate him too," I say, offering him my solidarity, my emotions, harkening back to when we weren't just Paul and Diana but Paulanddiana, a behemoth of teenage hormones, a single entity occupying two forms until it all blew up in our faces.

Paul, too, remembers this. I see it on his face as he looks at me. And then he moves in to kiss me.

There's only a brief second where I hesitate, but I manage to throw my hands up at the last second and stop him. "Don't," I say. "Don't do this."

He gets to his feet, angry. He reminds me of nothing so much as Darry as he rounds on me, eyes narrowed in anger. I think it's one of the first times I've ever seen Paul mad.

"I don't even know why I came here. You broke my heart, you know that?" He paces the floor. "And everytime I try to show you that I've changed, that I'm different now, you treat me like shit. All you care about is goddamn Curtis and his goddamn sob story. You won't even give me the time of day-"

"You broke my heart _first_ ," I remind him hotly. I get to my feet too. "And I don't care how different you are now, I love Darry. I _love_ him. You told me yourself you helped yourself to dozens of girls while you were telling me that you loved me. Go bother one of them."

"I know. I know. I screwed up. I know, okay?" He drops back down to the couch. "But, God, you're the only one who knows about my mom. You were always the only one who actually knew me!"

I sit down again, confused. It would be easier if I could just hate him and get on with my life, but I loved him for so many years. Even the love I feel for Darry can't quite make me immune to Paul and the hurt I see in his eyes.

"Paul, I want to be here for you. I do. But you've got to let me move on. I really care about Darry." I reach up to feel for his class ring, gathering strength from the solid weight of it. "I want to be with him. We can be friends, but you've got to move on too."

"Okay," he agrees, looking miserable. "But let me stay tonight? At least for a bit? Please?" He runs a hand through his blonde hair. "I won't make any more moves, I promise. I just don't want to be alone. Please."

It's the last please that does me in. I find myself nodding. "Alright, Paul. But tomorrow you've got to let me go."

He nods. "Tomorrow."

* * *

 **A big thank you to anyone who reads/reviews! Y'all are great!**


	22. Chapter 22

The door opens with a creak, and I help Diana down from my truck. She lands with a little bounce, and the humidity of the hot August night mixed with the scent of her perfume makes my head ache.

"I had a nice time tonight," she says formally, almost like this is our first date and she doesn't know who I am. Like she hasn't got my ring around her neck and my bite mark on her left shoulder. Like she doesn't think I'm going to kiss her on her front porch till her daddy flips the porch light on and off half a dozen times.

"Did you?" I can't help the note of genuine disbelief that creeps into my voice despite my attempt to make it playful.

"Of course." Still that same formal tone of voice, although she consents to hold my hand as we walk up her sidewalk.

"You've been actin' funny all night." There it is, the truth laid bare despite my best attempts to play it cool.

"I'm sorry," she says. And maybe she is. All I know is that it's the first time I've ever gone to a drive in and actually _watched_ a movie. She even shot down most of my awkward attempts at conversation. "I _did_ have a good time."

We've reached her porch now, and so I lean in to kiss her. She jerks away from me like I've got something contagious, and it's pure frustration that makes me burst out angrily, " _what_ is going on tonight?"

"Nothing," she insists. "I'm sorry. Really-"

"Hey, don't cry!" Panic creeps into my voice as a couple of tears leak out of her eyes and splash down her cheeks. They leave little shiny trails of accusations in their wake. "Come on, your mom doesn't need another reason to hate me."

Her laugh is weak, but it's a laugh. "I'm sorry," she repeats. "I am so, so sorry."

"It's just one date," I say firmly, refusing to consider that maybe she's apologizing for more than her behavior tonight. "They can't all be the best."

Her smile, at least, is genuine as she brushes a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "Guess not."

"Still pretty good, right?"

"Right."

The tension eases just a little. "So should I shake your hand, or-"

She laughs and presses her lips against mine. This is firmer ground entirely, and I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her closer until the flickering of the porch light tells me I've had enough.

"I guess I should be glad he doesn't come out here with a shotgun," Diana jokes.

"You and me both," I murmur against her hair. I've stopped kissing her, but I'm not ready to let her go quite yet.

"I should probably go inside."

"Yeah."

"Darry?"

"What?"

She sighs. "You have to let go now."

"Sorry." I make myself grin as I drop my hands. "Have a good first day at school tomorrow?"

Her head droops, and I wish I could figure out exactly what I've said or done that's made that awkwardness between us return. "I'm sure I will."

"I love you." I close my eyes, wait for her to say it back. When it doesn't come, I open them back up. She's not looking at me, but up at the maybe three stars you can see from the middle of Tulsa. "Diana?" _I'm not begging, it isn't begging…_

"I love you, too." A tremulous little smile and then she slips inside her house. I hear the lock of the door slide into place behind her, creating an impenetrable barrier between us, a line I can't cross.

I walk back to the truck.

Just like everything else good in my life, she's slipping through my fingers and there's not a goddamn thing I can do to stop it.

* * *

Working at the hardware store is a pretty easy gig. It's mostly lifting stuff and putting things away, so I don't mind it so much usually. But when I pull up in front of Alderman's Hardware Store one evening for my shift, I know it's going to be a harder than usual night because Paul Holden is waiting for me. He's leaning against the brick building tossing something up in the air and catching it. He's got on his TU jacket despite the heat, and I can't help but think he's wearing it just to rub it in. He knows, just like I know, that it's the first summer in forever I haven't played ball.

He smiles when he sees me. "Darrel."

"Paul." I stop about five feet away from him, hair on the back of my neck standing up. I don't want to fight right now, not when I need this job to make ends meet. But I'm not a coward either, so I don't know what's going to happen.

"Catch," he says, suddenly throwing whatever he's tossing up and down in the air towards me.

It's a flawless pass, and I catch whatever it is instinctively. It's small but heavy in my hand, and when I unclench my fist I'm only partly surprised to see my class ring lying in the palm of my hand. Somehow I expected that Diana would be at the heart of whatever Paul was here to say.

"I win," Paul announces.

I hold up the ring, stare at him through the hole in the middle. "You think so, huh?"

"Fucked her Saturday night. Turns out you're not the only one who can exploit a family tragedy. All I had to do was come up with a few tears and bam!" He claps his hands together. "I was in."

"Yeah, that's how I did it. Back when she was datin' you."

Paul's face reddens. "You've got your ring back now. So you stay away from her."

"I talked to her last night and she didn't say a word about you." I slide the ring onto my finger. P _aul has to be hot in that stupid jacket_ , I think. The thought gives me some satisfaction. "You think maybe she's playin' us both?"

Doubt and confusion suck some of the arrogance out of Paul. Whatever arrangement he thinks he might have with my girlfriend (and dammit, she's still my girlfriend until I hear otherwise) clearly isn't working out like he thought it was.

"She's scared of you," he finally settles on saying. "You beat the shit out of her boss, you _tried_ to hurt me-"

"I busted your lip," I remind him. "I'd say I did more than _try_."

"And you put your hand over her mouth when you didn't like what she was saying. She's scared of you. Your friends are criminals." He shakes his head. "You borrowed money from her to bail out one of your trashy friends? What were you thinking?"

More than Paul's bragging, it's this that finally gets under my skin. Because part of me thinks he's just bullshitting, that he's just making this up to provoke me. I don't know how he got the ring, but just because he has it doesn't mean that he actually slept with Diana.

But… but if he knows about me putting my hand over Diana's mouth and Diana giving me money for Dally's bail, then he's actually talked to Diana recently. She's confided in him, told him things she ought not be telling anyone. That's what hurts. She won't say a word about Paul's mom, that's how loyal she is to him. But my secrets, my shame, she spreads all over town to anyone who'll listen.

"She isn't scared." I clench my jaw. I've never hurt her. And I never will. He's lying. He has to be.

"She is," Paul says softly. He smiles suddenly, showing too many teeth- a shark smelling blood in the water. He hammers the point home. "She's too scared of you to break up with you. That's why she sent me to do it instead."

"Diana isn't scared of anything," I insist.

Paul blinks, and his smile becomes a little less predatory. He's such a failure at being intimidating that he forgets he hates me, forgets he's supposed to be warning me off Diana. He leans forward like we're friends again and he's telling me the latest gossip going around the locker room. "She is, actually. She's scared of the dark. That's why she sleeps with that stuffed rabbit."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"The rabbit. Ferdinand. For God's sake, she sleeps with it every single night. You haven't noticed it?"

"I don't go to her room much."

Paul grins. "Really? Man, you're missing out. Her dad takes sleeping pills and her mom apparently sleeps like the dead, so if you show up around-"

I shift my weight from one foot to the other. "Jesus, Paul. I've gotta go to work. Can you make your goddamn point before I get fired?"

It takes him a second to collect himself. "My _point,_ Darrel, is that you need to go back to whatever trash heap you climbed out of and forget all about Diana. She wants me, not you."

"Fine." I move to brush past him, but he steps in front of me again. "God, what now?"

Paul's face contorts into something ugly. He hates me, and I don't think he's ever hated anyone before. I taught him that, I realize with astonishment, and equal parts pride and regret well up within me.

"Did you honestly think she'd pick you over me?" He asks quietly, every word a jab to my pride because they're the same words I've tormented myself with since the day Diana and me got together. "You had your five minutes of fame back when you could catch a football, but now it's time for you to sink back into the filth you came out of. I felt sorry for you back in high school, we all did. We made you our charity case, but you forgot you're not really one of us. You're nothing and you're always going to be nothing, Darrel." He takes a deep breath. "And guys like you don't get girls like Diana. Leave that to the guys like _me._ "

"Guys like you?" I snort. "What kind of guy are you? You had to make up some sob story about your crazy mom to con Diana into giving you a pity fuck-"

"Don't talk about my mom like that," Paul interjects hotly. "She's not crazy-"

"I'll bet she's fucking nuts. Lucky her, not knowing what a pathetic waste of space you turned out to be." Paul moves suddenly like he's going to hit me, but I dodge him. I'm not finished yet. "And you know what? Freshman year of college I made out with Diana in the backseat of _your_ car, and my parents were still alive then. So it wasn't pity. Guess she didn't find guys like you satisfying enough." I check my watch. I'm very late now. This has to end.

I shove past him, which is easier than I thought it would be. He doesn't move to stop me, and I wonder exactly which part of what I said devastated him the most. Because that's how he looks, devastated. Lucky me for growing up in such a rough neighborhood that words simply roll right off my back. No one ever kissed my ass and told me I was hot shit. Not a single person.

I turn around, getting the last word in. That's important to me, it always has been. "If you got somethin' else to say to me, well, I get off at one."

* * *

 _Diana cheated on me_.

Once the adrenaline fades and I'm set to haul boxes for the next few hours, the main point of what Paul was trying to say hits me. _Diana cheated on me. She cheated on_ me.

Lifting freight off the late night trucks is so mindless that it does little to distract me from the pictures in my head. I can't stop thinking about her and Paul. I can't quit picturing them together. When my shift finally ends I've tortured myself into such a state of jealousy and anger that when I leave Alderman's for the night I want so badly for Paul to be there that I almost can't stand it.

He isn't. _Coward_. It pisses me off, but then my heart almost stops and I think, _he went to Diana's._

She's scared of me, he said. So scared she can't even face me. Of course he'd go keep her company tonight after he relayed her message. I'm angry, who knows what I'll do. Not that I'm going to do anything to hurt her, but they don't know that. What kind of man _wouldn't_ go stay with his scared girlfriend?

Except he isn't there either. I put my truck in park, having raced to her house to go have it out with both of them, and his car is nowhere to be seen. There is, however, a slight glow coming from Diana's window. A night light, maybe? How come I never knew she was scared of the dark?

I want to ask her why she did it, why she's telling him all this personal shit, why she had to go and sleep with him when I thought things were getting better… but I can't. If she's scared, turning up at her window madder than a hornet isn't going to fix anything. It'll just make things worse.

Do I even want to fix things?

I don't know. I don't have anything figured out yet, and maybe it's for that reason that I turn the engine over and high tail it back to where I came from.

* * *

My own house is dark and quiet when I get home. My brothers, thank God, have long since gone to bed. Dally too, camped out on our couch, is asleep. His head is thrown back and drool seeps out of his mouth and onto the hand he's using as a pillow. In lieu of Paul I'd happily kick the shit out of him, but I let sleeping dogs lie and head to the kitchen. I'm my father's son, after all, and right now I need a drink as badly as he ever did.

I slide my hand up to the very top of the fridge and grab the bottle of whiskey my dad left us. It's the only material thing we got, except for the truck I guess. I don't bother with a glass or anything, I sip it straight from the bottle just like he did. It burns going down, just another reminder that we've always been broke as hell: Paul Holden's daddy always had the good stuff.

I'm only two shots in and I'm starting to feel better. And now… now I want a cigarette. That's a problem, 'cause I don't usually smoke, but I head to my kid brothers' room to bum one from Pony. What kind of fourteen year old kid smokes like a chimney? What kind of guardian am I to let him? I don't know, and I'm not going to figure it out tonight. I take two out of the nearly empty pack and head out to the porch. The air outside is muggy, every breath feels like I'm breathing underwater. But I sit down on the steps and strike a match.

"Since when do you smoke?" I've barely got the first one lit when Soda pads out to join me on the porch. He steals my unlit cigarette, twirling it around in his fingers before sticking it in his mouth and lighting it up.

I shrug. "What? You think I gotta protect my promising athletic career? The dreams dead. I might as well live it up while I've got a chance." One lone lightning bug glows in the yard, flying lazily over what used to be Mom's flower garden but is now a tangle of weeds. I suck at being a guardian, a boyfriend, and apparently yard work ain't my thing either. "Sorry I woke you up."

"It's fine. I mean, for a second I thought we were bein' mugged by Bigfoot, but once I figured out it was just you it was okay." He blows smoke out of the side of his mouth. "Somethin' on your mind?"

"Diana's runnin' around on me." I say the words out loud for the first time, trying them on for size. They go out much easier than they came in. "Heard from Paul Holden tonight that she's gone back to him."

"Shit, man, really?" Soda shakes his head like he can't believe it. "She seemed so into you."

"Yeah, well, guess not." I try and fail to blow a smoke ring. My dad could do it every time, but I don't smoke enough to be able to do it. It doesn't matter, though. Either the liquor has kicked in or the smoking is relaxing me enough to where everything feels kind of far away and numb.

"You sure he told you right?" Soda asks. "I mean, you sure he ain't a liar?"

Before I can explain about Paul knowing all the secret details of me and Diana, the screen door slams and Dally joins us on the porch. "The hell's this about? Y'all havin' some kind of secret meeting out here?"

Soda pushes my shoulder. "Dally's an asshole, it's a secret."

"Ain't a secret if the whole city knows about it." Dally steals the cigarette right out of my mouth and pops it into his. "Damn, Darry. Tell the kid to start buying the good cigarettes. These are _shit_." His eyes move from me to Soda. "So what's going on?"

Soda looks at me. I look up at the porch light, surrounded by fluttering moths. "You were right," I say shortly.

"About?"

I huff in anger. What the hell have we been fighting about? Maybe he just wants he satisfaction of hearing me say it. I grit my teeth. "Diana. You were right about Diana."

I expect him to gloat. I expect him to say he told me so. Instead he just shrugs and says, "I'm sorry."

I swallow thickly. The numbness is wearing off and I wish I'd brought the whiskey out here. "S'okay. Ain't your fault. It's goddamn Paul Holden-"

"Blonde guy? Husky?"

I nod, staring suddenly at Dally. "Yeah, why? You know him?"

"I went to her house Sunday morning to give her back her money. He was there. She was cussin' up a storm and trying to push him into the car. 'Course once she saw me she let him out quick enough." Dally laughs.

"And you didn't say nothin'?" Soda asks, outraged on my behalf.

Dally simply shrugs, looking unimpressed. "I figured you wouldn't believe me. Besides, she looked like she hated him right then, how was I supposed to know she'd just spread her legs for the guy?"

"Don't," I warn him. I don't like the image that comes to mind when he says that. He doesn't argue. "Did you give her the money?"

"Yeah, I gave it to her." He sneers. "Told her I didn't want her fucking charity, and next time she lent you money it should be for something other than bailing me outta jail. Blondie tried to act like a tough guy, but she told him to knock it off."

Diana didn't say anything to me about meeting Dally, and no wonder since she'd have to explain about Paul being there. No wonder she's been so distant lately, I realize. She's been waiting for Dally to tell me everything. I chew my lip. Did she finally get tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop and send Paul on his little mission?

"What're you gonna do?" Soda asks.

My throat tightens and the world blurs. I shrug. "Hell if I know."

* * *

It's been a long time since I made the trek up the stairs of the art building to the painting studio, but on Thursday night I find myself there again. I climb the stairs slowly, not really wanting to get to where I'm going. But inevitably the stairs take me to the third floor art studio, where Diana and a few other art students are working tonight.

I stand there, staring at Diana for a moment. Her head is bowed over the paint she's mixing, and she looks beautiful. I almost change my mind right then and there. But no matter how pretty she is, no matter how much I want her, I can't be with someone I can't trust. I watched my mom die by inches every time my father strolled in late with a bad excuse, or worse- no excuse at all. That can't be me, I won't _let_ it be me.

She looks up and sees me, and her entire face lights up. I mean, she positively _glows_. She rises to come towards me, and I think it's funny how even when I can see her for who she really is, a spoiled, faithless girl with all the common sense of a kitten, she's still the only girl I've ever met who can turn me inside out and twist me around with only a look.

I've wanted her since I was in high school, just like I wanted a football career, a college degree, to get out of my neighborhood. Everything else turned to shit, I don't know why I expected this to turn out any different.

She wraps her arms around me, inciting a few looks of interest from the nerdy looking artists, and I can't help it: I instinctively wrap my arms around her waist.

"I didn't know you were coming tonight," she say, the very picture of innocence. "I'm so glad-"

"We need to talk."

Her smile falters for a second, but then she beams up at me again. "Okay. Where'd you park?"

She tucks her hand in mine and chatters happily as I lead her away to my car. I don't know what she's saying, the only thing I can hear is my own brain on repeat: _She picked Paul. It was never you. She picked Paul._ My stomach lurches and I drop her hand.

"Is everything okay?" She asks as I practically rip the door off my truck to let her in.

"Missing something?" I ask, once I've gotten into the driver's seat.

"Just you," she teases. "I've been reading more of that horrible book, and I think- where'd you find that? I thought for sure I'd lost it."

I hold out my class ring to her, shoving it back into my pocket only when she reaches for it. She looks at me, confused.

"Paul gave it back to me," I tell her.

She goes pale. "Oh."

"You got somethin' you want to tell me?"

"I'm sorry," she says softly. "Darry, I am _so_ sorry. I didn't mean for it to happen."

I can hardly stand to look at her. "Why?"

"He needed me-"

" _I_ needed you," I interject. "I needed to be able to trust you."

"I know, I know." Her voice takes on a slightly desperate quality and before I know it she's crying. "I really didn't mean for it to happen, he was just so upset."

"He made it up." There's a kind of savage joy in telling her that, in telling her who Paul really is. "Whatever he told you, it was just an excuse to get you to put out."

"What?" She sounds genuinely surprised by this. "No, he wouldn't do that."

"Well, he did." I choke on the bitterness of my voice "And you _fell_ for it. Did you really have to sleep with him?"

Her gasp makes me stare. She looks shocked. "Is that what he said happened? I didn't! He tried to kiss me and I told him _no_ , I told him I was in love with you and he needed to accept that!"

"Then what the hell are you apologizing for?"

"For letting him stay over! He spent the night. But I didn't _sleep_ with him!"

I could almost believe her, but in the back of my mind all I can see is Paul's smug face. "You still have feelings for him."

"I don't," she argues hotly. "Why do you believe him and not me? I told you last time when something happened!"

"The fact that there's even a _last time_ is a real problem for me!" My voice rises to a roar and she looks terrified. I don't care. "You promised you wouldn't see him again!"

"He's a friend! You of all people ought to understand questionable friendships!"

"You can't be friends with someone you used to fuck! Why do I even have to tell you that?"

"Because you just made it up! It's a made up rule!"

"It's common sense!" I hit the steering wheel again. "Jesus, Diana! What do I have to do to get you to forget about him?"

"I didn't have sex with him," she says softly.

"I don't believe you."

"Then I think we're done here." She reaches for the door handle.

"Wait!" I can't help myself. "Diana, wait! Come here."

"Why?" She's blinking back tears. "So we can just paper over this with sex like we usually do? I didn't cheat on you, but if you'll take Paul's word over mine, then it may as well be over."

I reach for her, and she flinches. I drop my hand, where it lands with a dull thud on the carseat. "D'you think I'm going to hurt you?"

She lifts her chin up, and the only thing that ruins the defiant look she gives me are the tears running down her face. They trail down her cheeks, falling off her chin and onto my still outstretched hand like tiny raindrops. "In the past six months I've seen you assault Don and Gene-"

"They showed up to jump me!" I protest.

"-You beat up Henry, you tried to beat up Paul-"

"-tried my _ass_ , I clocked him pretty good-"

"-by your own admission you shattered your own friend's jaw-"

"-he deserved it-"

"And you're friends with people who apparently treat prison like the Howard Johnson." She wipes her face. "So maybe you will hurt me. I don't know. I feel like I don't know the first thing about you." In her eyes I see reflected what I've seen in everyone's eyes since I was old enough to read people: Greaser. Hood. Delinquent. She might say she doesn't know the first thing about me, but I can tell she's got a working theory.

Her hand finds the door handle and she opens the door. "So this is it then?"

"Guess so." Diana looks over her shoulder at me. "I guess it was never going to work out anyway, huh?"

I curl my hands around the steering wheel, squeezing until my knuckles are bleached white. "We were just foolin' ourselves."

"Maybe I'll see you around sometime."

"Maybe."

Diana hesitates, like she wants to say something else, and I swear that if she takes it back we could still salvage this. I'll listen to her talk about whatever she wants to talk about. I'll keep my hands to myself. I'll introduce her to every shifty eyed hood on the East Side, and personally inform her of their criminal histories in as much detail as she needs to feel comfortable. She's got her issues, but hell, so do I. There's no reason for this. None at all.

But then she just gives me a sad little smile as she slides out of my truck and my life, slamming the door behind her. I wait until I see her make it safely back into the art building before I start the car. And then I leave it all behind, my hopes, my dreams, my everything.

I need a fucking drink.

 **A/N: It's not over yet! Thanks to anyone who is still reading, and to everyone who encouraged me to just write something already. I went through about twenty-three drafts of this chapter, and probably could have done about twenty-three more if I hadn't been encouraged to just get on with it already.**


	23. Chapter 23

Honestly, I think I deserve some credit for not marching over to Paul's house first thing and knocking his front teeth out. Instead, I wisely opt to spend the first night of my life without Darry at home, letting my anger settle and gathering my thoughts.

But like so much of what I've said lately, that's not exactly the truth.

Here's the truth: When my dad comes to pick me up Thursday night, I'm already sobbing so hard that snot pours out of nose and my eyes swell up so much I can barely see. Some women can look attractive when they cry, I'm absolutely certain stupid Priscilla can, but not me. I'm in no condition to confront _anyone_. I end up crying myself to sleep, absolutely certain that life as I know it is over.

I blame myself. And it doesn't occur to me until the next morning that there is plenty of blame to go around.

Only one thoughts echoes around in my head as I pound on Paul's door bright and early the next morning. _Paul lied._ Why this surprises me, I don't know. Haven't I know since I found him with Miriam's legs wrapped around him that he lies? Haven't I known since he _confessed to being a liar_ that he is, in fact, a liar? This should be the _least_ surprising revelation in the history of revelations.

I never thought he'd lie about this. I never thought he'd reach out and destroy my chance at happiness. I never thought he'd manipulate my emotions. I was worried I never knew Darry, but maybe I never knew Paul either.

The Holden's front door opens, slamming against the doorstop with alarming ferocity. "What do you want?" Paul snarls.

His obvious anger throws me off. _Damn it, I'm the one who is supposed to be angry here,_ I think. But that's fine. The angrier he is, the angrier I can be. We can end everything right here and now.

"You are one sorry son of a-" A woman's anguished scream interrupts me. I can't stop my eyes from widening. I know instinctively that it's Paul's mother who is screaming and that whatever anger he's harboring at the moment, it isn't meant for me at all. I switch course. "What's happening?"

He doesn't answer. "This isn't a good time, Diana. Go away."

My anger, temporarily doused, reignites with a vengeance. "Don't you tell _me_ to go away! You told Darry I slept with him! You lied about everything!"

Another scream.

 _Maybe not everything._

Paul blinks furiously, and for the first time I realize that his eyes are red. Like he's been crying. "Yeah, I lied. If I don't get to have you, neither does he. I hate him. I hope he's _miserable_ thinking about you and me together, just like I've been miserable thinking about you and him."

"But _I'm_ miserable." I want to fight, to finally have this out with him, but the screaming is playing tricks on my mind. I want to get out of here. I want to take Paul with me. I want, I want, I want.

"Collateral damage."

"You're an asshole, Paul."

"Don't I know it," he says, and his voice is every bit as bitter as Darry's has ever been.

Another scream, this time cut off abruptly. I hear the shattering of glass, and then the unsettling sound of silence.

Paul tenses. "Are we done here?" He asks tightly.

"What's happening to her?" I can't stop myself from asking the question even though I'm not sure I want an answer.

"The doctors are coming for her on Monday. My dad was going to just have them show up and take her, but she found out."

"How'd she find out?"

Paul flushes. "She deserved to know. She's still _in_ there, she just-" he cuts himself off. "Get the hell off my porch, Diana. I told you if you picked him it wouldn't end well."

"Oh, go to hell," I snarl. "It wouldn't have ended at all if not for you."

 _Now who's lying?_

I can't think about this right now. If I can blame Paul for lying, if I can blame him for the destruction of my relationship with Darry, then I don't have to consider the idea that maybe Darry and I doused everything in gasoline ourselves and Paul only lit the match. I turn to go. The longer I spend here, the harder it is to keep up the carefully constructed facade I spent all morning dreaming up for myself.

"Diana!" I turn around and Paul steps forward just a little, looking nervous. "Are you okay?"

I throw my hands up in the air. "Second broken heart this year. It's practically second nature." He looks a little younger and a little lost standing in his pajamas on his front porch. "Are you okay?"

He turns away from me. "I'm moving out."

I envy the easy way he says that, but I nod anyway. "I'm sure your new mommy won't want any relics hanging around."

This actually makes him smile. I don't know why. Sometimes grief is strange that way, I suppose. "I'm not sorry I did it," he declares.

"Of course you aren't. No matter how much you loved me, you always loved yourself more." I spin on my heel, determined this time to leave. Without turning around, I call back to him, "Don't you ever contact me again."

The slamming front door is my only answer. I take it as agreement.

* * *

My head is still reeling from my encounter with Paul later that morning as I set up for my painting critique. This is one critique that isn't going to go well for me: Caught up as I was in my own personal drama, I never did manage to finish my painting. It stares at me, blank and unfinished, and I wonder if I can spin some artistic bullshit around the unpainted gesso.

I wonder if I can ever get the peculiar octave of Mrs. Holden's screams out of my head.

A wave of nausea overtakes me. How can any man treat his wife like that? I try to imagine my own father relegating my mom the the spare bedroom and then locking her up in an asylum when he was ready to move on. I can't see it. My dad would have called every doctor in the state of Oklahoma before letting my mom sink that low, but I guess it was more convenient for Mr. Holden to forget he had a wife.

Im so lost in thought that I almost miss the thump of someone sitting down at the easel next to me. It's not until she leans over that I realize Joanie is trying to get my attention. When she sees she has it, she smiles. She hasn't spoken to me in ages, and if she wants to talk to me now it's nothing but trouble.

"What?" I ask, not bothering to be polite.

Her voice is all syrupy sweetness. "I was just wondering if you were still dating that guy?"

"Which one?" I know which one.

"The big one."

I bite the inside of my mouth so hard I taste blood. "No, we broke up."

"Oh, no!" She presses a hand to her mouth like she is simply too shocked. "Well, that does explain…"

"Explain _what_?" I ask, because she wants me to.

"Why he was at Rusty's Bar last night drinking and carryin' on." Her eyes are bright with excitement. "He left with one of the waitresses. A blonde girl with tits out to there, and I thought 'I hope my dear friend Diana isn't countin' on him to be faithful.' I work at Rusty's now. I saw them with my own eyes."

I could roll my eyes at her tone even as her words stab at my heart. Drinking? Blonde with big tits? He couldn't even wait an hour before he was on top of someone else? I could cry right here thinking about it, the only thing that stops me is Joanie and her too eager and too false concern.

 _Of course he didn't wait five minutes, he thinks you cheated on him_.

 _He really thinks I cheated on him_.

My fingers curl around my paintbrush, and I feel the sudden urge to stab it through my canvas, right through all that gesso and pigment. See what my hasbeen beatnik of an art professor thinks of _that_.

"Good for him." I make my lips form the words, and then I force the corners of my lips upwards. Hopefully it passes for a smile.

Joanie blinks, and her mask of concern slides off. She looks outraged that I'm not upset. She tries again. "The girl he went off with was _real_ pretty. He looked happy. You sure you don't mind?"

"Of course I don't." I straighten my back. Joanie can't bother me, I was a cheerleader. I'm a bit rusty at this game, but I was good at it once. And it's a bit like riding a bike, really. "I'm happy for him. If big breasted cocktail waitresses are his thing, well, there's no accounting for taste." Smile. Hair flip. _Done_.

Joanie hesitates, then she gets up and hauls herself off to her usual easel. I might have won, but it's a bitter victory. Because the truth of the matter is that Darry went off with the first warm body who'd have him. Did I mean that little? Was I that unimportant that I'm so easily replaced?

I swallow the painful lump in my throat. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter at all.

 _I'm lying._

* * *

That night, I toss and turn so much that even Ferdinand gets aggravated with me and hops off to greener pastures. By which I mean, of course, that I knock him off my bed and don't bother to pick him up. It's 3 a.m., the Darrel Curtis hour. Only it isn't anymore, and probably never will be again.

Here is what I know: It's my fault. I know it is. I can blame Paul for not leaving me alone, but the truth is that it was only ever really my reactions to him that Darry minded. I kissed him. I let him stay with me. Darry's right. I _do_ still have feelings for Paul.

That doesn't change the fact that I love Darry.

It doesn't make any sense to me, how I can love Darry and still be a little bit in love with Paul. I thought you only loved one person at a time. But maybe emotions are too complicated a thing to bind up with rules I learned in trite, formulaic books. Maybe the heart, _my_ heart, is more expansive than I give it credit for.

I wonder if Paul ever stayed up late at night and thought these same things in regards to me and all the other girls he was seeing.

I kick my sheets and blankets off of me, suddenly feeling too warm. No matter what sort of complicated feelings I had, it was never okay to hurt Darry. And to add to that, it wasn't okay to hurt Paul either. Because I did hurt him. And maybe he hurt me first, but that doesn't make what I did right.

I get to my feet, go to the window. There's no one out there when I open my shade, not that I expected there to be. I don't know who I'd want to see right now anyway. Maybe someone who can explain the mess I've made out of things.

My breath fogs up a little bit of the glass, and I wipe it clean with my thumb. For one wild second I picture myself hopping in to my mother's station wagon and driving to Darry's house. My heart beats faster. What would he do? What would he say?

Two things stop me. The first being that I know all too well what it's like to be hunted down by an ex who won't let you move on. I love Darry too much to do to him what Paul did to me. If he's happy with his cocktail waitress, then I want him happy. He deserves to be happy, even if it's not with me.

Because, if I'm being perfectly honest, I don't know that it ever could be with me. And that leads to my second reason.

Even without Paul, Darry and I had problems. Major problems. He didn't like to talk to me. I never really felt at ease with him. You can't have a lasting relationship with someone you can't be yourself around. And for whatever reason neither one of us felt comfortable being ourselves around each other.

 _It's because neither one of us really know who we are right now._

I straighten. It's true. His life has undergone dramatic upheaval he's still coming to terms with. Between Paul and my dad, my own life has been directed and stage managed to such a degree that I'm not even sure of my own hobbies and interests. We can't be ourselves, not if we don't know who those selves might be.

The thought feels very profound, and for a second I feel extremely proud of myself for having had it. But then I have to laugh and lean my head against the window once more. I'm not profound. I'm just a silly teenage girl who reads far too many romance novels and probably doesn't understand how life really works.

But I feel a little less ragged and sad tonight. So I bid the moon goodnight, rescue Ferdinand, and climb back in bed.

* * *

"You poor thing." Lucy pats my head. "You poor, poor thing."

I've just finished pouring my heart out to Lucy as we sit on Teddy's couch. Tears are still running down my face, but her over the top pity makes me laugh.

"It's okay, Luce. I just needed to get it all out. Am I a terrible person?"

Lucy, ever loyal to me if not the men in her life, shakes her head. "Of course not. Paul and Darry are horrible. You're just confused."

She's wrong, I know intellectually that I am as much at fault as either of the two boys, but I gobble up her assurances just like I gobbled up the cookies she made me an hour ago. I lie back on the couch and listen to her prattle on about how horrible Paul and Darry were and how much I am the injured party.

"You know what you need?" Lucy says suddenly, and I know she isn't asking me so much as she's about to tell me. "You need a night out."

I groan. "That's the last thing I need."

"No, it's _exactly_ what you need." Lucy warms to her theme. "We'll drive down to OSU next Friday and find a party. You can meet somebody there and spend the weekend doing naughty things, and then you'll be right as rain. Believe me, the best way to get over somebody is to get under somebody else."

I ponder that. It's the type of advice you'd expect from someone nicknamed Loosey in high school. But I don't think it's for me. "I don't know."

"I bet it'd piss both of them off if they knew." I think about it, and then give a slight nod. Lucy grins, delighted. "Fantastic. Teddy!"

Teddy emerges from the kitchen with a cookie in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Domestic life with Lucy clearly agrees with him. He looks happier and more peaceful than he has in ages. So does Lucy, for that matter. I study my hands, trying to squash the burst of jealousy that gnaws away at my cookie-coated insides.

"Diana needs cheering up so I'm taking her to OSU next weekend," Lucy informs him.

I can tell by his slight grimace that Teddy does not like the idea of the girl he so recently wooed going to party at OSU. But Teddy is smart. Instead of throwing a fit and forbidding it like some people might do (not naming any names, but it rhymes with barrel) he frames it as concern for me.

"Do you really think that rushing into another relationship is something Diana needs right now?"

"What?" Lucy glances at me. "Why wouldn't she?"

Teddy comes closer, eyeing me still outstretched on his couch. "Well, it seems to me like Diana's problems stem from a failure to properly consider her own needs. Instead of rushing around from relationship to relationship looking for a quick fix, Diana might be well advised to take some time and consider what she wants out of life."

Incredulous, Lucy gapes at him. Maybe she's remembering, like I am, that Teddy majored in Psychology. "What Diana wants out of life is to go to OSU next weekend, Theodore."

Teddy taps his chin, looking down at me sympathetically. He really should have gone for acting, because I could almost believe his concern is genuine. "Diana, you're never going to find what you're looking for in someone else, you have to find it within."

"What a load of nonsense," Lucy huffs. "She'll find what she's looking for, as long as what she's looking for is a good time."

Lucy crosses her arms, looking mutinous. Teddy, in between bites of cookies, simply looks concerned.

"This is ridiculous," I start to say.

"You stay out of this, Diana," Lucy orders.

They stare at each other, Lucy fuming, Teddy chewing, neither one of them willing to back down.

"Theodore, if we could please speak in the bedroom." Lucy tries to smile, but her clenched teeth give it away. She's angry. She isn't used to not getting her way.

Teddy finishes his cookie, washing it down with the rest of his milk. "Why?" He asks recklessly. "Diana knows what fights look like."

" _Theodore_."

Teddy sighs. "Excuse us for a minute, Diana." And he follows Lucy to the bedroom.

I lie on my back listening to the distant sound of their argument until the front door opening makes me abruptly sit up. It's Cal, returning home. He's carrying a pizza.

He doesn't look surprised to see me on his couch, which I guess means word of my breakup has spread. "Diana," he says by way of greeting. "Where're Teddy and Lucy?"

"Bedroom," I say shortly. And then, lest he think anything is going on, I specify, "they're fighting."

"What else is new," he mutters. "I think he bit off more than he can chew with that one."

Since it's Lucy's shrill voice that echoes through the apartment, I can't argue. Instead I shrug. "He loves her."

"Love, schmove. You hungry?" He holds up his pizza box.

I'm full of cookie. But as I look at Cal, I'm struck by the thought that there's no need to go to OSU to find someone to piss off Darry and Paul. I can look closer to home. _Much closer._

I smile at Cal. "I'm starving."

* * *

Lucy and Teddy are still arguing as Cal and I divy up the pizza. Cal and I have never been friendly, but as we eat we talk. I find out he has two older sisters and a younger brother. He finds out that I'm majoring in Art.

Of course, I don't expect the sudden revelation that I like painting to make him suddenly want me. I roll my skirt up. I giggle at his bad jokes. I brush against him as I move. In short, I let him know a dozen different ways exactly what I want from him. Darry can move on? So can I.

When he pours me a glass of wine, I think about declining it. My emotions are so close to the surface that a little alcohol is as likely to make me cry as it to make me put out. But when he presses, I accept, even though red wine makes my head hurt.

"Hey," Cal observes we hear the sudden thump of the bed knocking against the wall. "They've stopped fighting."

"Good for them." I sip at my wine, unsure of what to say next.

Cal sits down beside me on the couch, resting his hand on my knee. Very slowly he moves his hand upwards. "I think maybe they've got a good idea."

* * *

It happens so fast after that. We end up in his bedroom, and then we're tentatively kissing each other and fumbling towards the bed.

My shirt is the first thing to come off, and he balls it up and tosses it behind him. My bra joins it soon enough, and then I'm naked from the waist up. He looks down at me dispassionately, like I'm some sort of specimen underneath a microscope. I wonder what he's thinking as he looks at me. Is he thinking about Paul's locker room boasts? Or is he thinking about Darry?

God knows I am. _Deep breath._

I'm fine.

A careless hand grazes the bottom of my breast, and I think maybe I'd enjoy it more if his elbow weren't on my hair. But before I can protest, his mouth smashes up against mine in what could possibly be termed a kiss. It feels like he's trying to suck my soul out.

Objectively speaking, it isn't that he is a bad kisser. It's just that I've had better kisses. _Right here in this bed, actually_ , I think awkwardly, remembering that night Paul stayed with me. Now I guess what he was afraid of is finally happening.

Cal's mouth drops down to my neck. I try to will myself to find some sort of pleasure in this. Cal isn't bad looking, his hair is almost as dark as mine and he has really interesting hazel eyes, it's just his character that is so abhorrent to me.

 _I don't want to do this_.

My eyes pop open. It isn't that I've never had this thought during sex, I have, it's just that suddenly I'm so tired of this. I force myself to think of Darry and his cocktail waitress, to think of how much news of Cal and me will bother both Paul and Darry, but I don't feel anything beyond a slight flare of jealousy of some bosomy blonde I'll never know.

 _I don't want to do this._

Is this really all I want from life? To live with my legs open and mouth shut? To measure my self worth by who's on top of me? If Darry knew what I was doing, would he even care? And if by chance he cares, why does it matter to me?

"I don't want to do this." I say the words out loud, quietly, trying them on for size.

Cal, focusing his attention on my left breast, doesn't hear me.

"Cal." I raise my voice a little. "I changed my mind."

He looks up, hazel eyes unfocused. He looks confused, probably because all the blood is rushing somewhere else if the bulge pressing against my right thigh is any indication. "Say again?"

"I've changed my mind. I don't want to do this."

He looks outraged. "You can't change your mind! Not after the way you acted tonight! This was _your_ idea!"

I flinch. He's not wrong. "I'm sorry. I just don't want to do this anymore."

He balls up his hands into fists. "But you've already slept with Holden! You slept with Curtis, for God's sake. Curtis!"

 _That doesn't mean I'm going to sleep with_ you, I think. But I don't say it out loud, because I know I'm probably being unfair. "I'm sorry," I repeat.

He heaves himself off of me, and I manage to sit up. He retrieves my bra and shirt for me, thrusting them both at me with barely concealed frustration. My fingers shake too much to easily redo the buttons on my blouse. I've never done this before. I never thought I had it in me.

"Oh, for Pete's sake," Cal snaps. He knocks my hands out of the way and redoes my buttons. "I never thought I'd feel sorry for Holden and Curtis, but you are damn near _certifiable_."

I hide a smile. I wonder if all along that's been Paul's attraction to me; that I remind him of his mother. "I know."

Cal buttons me all the way to my chin. "I should have known you were just a tease."

I flinch. _Tease_. I've never been called that before. What I promise, I deliver. But not anymore, I guess. And I'd rather Cal call me a tease than a conquest. "It wasn't intentional," I explain. "I am sorry."

He closes his eyes. "Just get out, Diana."

Of course I didn't expect him to drive me home or anything, but the disappointment with which he says this hits me almost like a physical blow. I'm a coward, not in the face of anger, but in the face of expectation. Had he yelled, I would flounce away feeling righteous in my anger. Disappointment unearths something almost hysterical inside of me. I take a step towards the bed, waffling.

And yet… and yet…

I still don't want to sleep with him.

I get out.

* * *

I can't sleep.

Tonight's events keep playing over and over again in my head, and it's like I'm watching a movie about somebody else. Was it really me that hiked up my skirt so high? Was it really me that giggled and sat on his lap, grinding my hips into his? Was it really me that took him by the hand and led him to the bedroom?

Was it really me that told Darry that I was scared of him?

I sit up, gasping for breath. I'm so ashamed of myself. I've been on a downward spiral since I broke up with Paul, making impulsive choice after impulsive choice. Was Cal right? Am I crazy? Is it going to be me screaming and carted off to a hospital next?

The only person I'm scared of is me.

Maybe this is why my father doesn't want me to be a lawyer. Maybe he's right. I'm impulsive, emotional. Possibly I am a basket case. I have destroyed everything I've touched this year, maybe even myself.

I put my head between my knees, like somehow it will stop the spinning of my own thoughts. What have I done? What will I do?

And just like that, I'm out of bed and rifling through every nook and cranny of my bedroom. It's where it should be, of course: My old sketchbook is still lying on the bookshelf where I left it. I flip to the page I marked with that single line so long ago, the one I thought represented life before and after Darry. I look at it, that harsh black line standing forlorn in a sea of white. I look at it and think.

This is not who I want to be. I am not this girl who drifts mindlessly from man to man, waiting for someone to make me into myself. I don't want the only decisions I ever make about my life to be about who I have sex with. I want to know things, to _experience_ things, without someone carefully vetting them first. There's an entire world out there far beyond the sanitized life my parents have presented me with. If I stay on the path I'm on now, that's all I'll ever know.

There's no more Paul. There's no more Darry. There's only me, and I have to make something of myself before I completely lose the chance.

And so I let it go. I move beyond the line, into the after.

I take a deep breath. I need a plan.

I start to write.

* * *

 **A/N: Of course, Diana isn't as done with the past as she thinks she is. :) Thank you to those that continue to read and review.**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: So remember how I said that this story would only be thirty chapters? Things have taken much longer to pan out than I thought they would. Sorry.**

* * *

My head pounds. Frustrated, mostly with myself, I splash my face with water from the sink. When I look up, it's my father's face I see reflected back at me in the bathroom mirror. His bloodshot eyes, his swollen face after a night spent drinking. Only my eyes remind me that I'm still me, because I'm willing to bet that even the taste of cheap liquor on my tongue is the same.

It's not Diana. I mean, I'm not drinking to forget her or anything. Why would I? Her memory thrives on alcohol, getting stronger with every drink I consume.

I'm not drinking to remember her either.

It's bigger than her. It's bigger than me. My life is a wreck. I'd never say it out loud, but I think maybe we'd all have been better off if I'd just let the state take my brothers. I get sick to my stomach just letting myself think that, but it's the truth. Deciding to take them was an impulsive decision. Maybe it would have been better for us all if I'd finished college, made something of myself, and _then_ sought custody.

I wanted to save my brothers, but I think I've only lost myself instead.

The sound of somebody pounding at the bathroom door startles me. "What?" My voice is an unfriendly snarl, taking even me aback. _Diana would be terrified_ , I think before I remember that I don't care.

"I need to use the bathroom," my ungrateful brother whines.

I grit my teeth, about to lose it. Here I am, on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and the only thing Ponyboy can manage to think about is himself.

Anger disfigures my face, making it look less like my dad than ever. For all his faults, he was never angry much, at least not at us kids. I think sometimes it would have been better if he had beat us nightly or something, just so I could hate him instead of feeling so mixed up about him. I want to hate him for the drinking, for all the shit he put Mom through, but then I'll remember how he would clap me on the back after a game and tell me he was _so, so proud of me,_ or I'll remember how he nearly killed himself working every winter just so he could give us a good Christmas.

Mostly I think of Johnny and Steve, who _do_ get beaten by their dads, and I realize how messed up my thinking is. I ought to feel grateful for the dad I had. I'm not, but I know I ought to.

"Darry," Pony whines.

I take a deep breath, drying my face off with a threadbare towel. "I'm coming, I'm coming," I call, trying not to sound as angry as I feel inside. "Hold your damn horses."

When I finally open the door, Ponyboy's eyes are accusatory. "I've got to get ready for school."

"And I've got to get ready for work," I argue. "You know, that thing that pays our bills? Besides, ain't like you gotta shave, is it? How long can it possibly take to douse your hair in grease and roll around in Dad's aftershave?"

I mean it as a joke, but Ponyboy doesn't look very amused. "You're gonna be sweatin' all day, why you gotta get cleaned up for it?"

I roll my eyes, unreasonably irritated with his mouthiness. Soda's been covering for me at night, so Ponyboy has no idea I've been spending most of my nights (and most of my money, I think with a sudden rush of shame) at the bar sucking down booze like it's oxygen. Ponyboy pushes past me to get to the bathroom, moving to shut the door behind him.

"Don't slam the door," I warn.

He slams it anyway.

Ungrateful.

* * *

"You need to go see Diana."

I take my eyes off the road for just a second to glance over at my younger brother in astonishment. Soda's eyes are narrowed and his arms are folded. If anger looks wrong on my dad's face, it sure as hell looks wrong coming from my mom's eyes. My mom was good, gentle, and kind. She never looked at me with a fraction of the disappointment and hatred radiating from Soda.

"Why the hell would I do that?" I ask, returning my eyes to the road. I'm dropping him off at the DX before driving to work myself. It's a dumb question, I can think of a million reasons, but I want to know what my brother thinks.

"You're much nicer when you're getting laid."

I _am_ getting laid. Every damn night. So that's not the problem. But I don't say that, 'cause it's not any of Soda's business. What I say instead is, "you don't like it, you can get out. You know where the door is."

"You can say all the shit about Dad you want, Dar." Soda's voice drips poison. "But at least when he drank up all the money he never took it out on us. He never blamed us for his problems."

My throat is tight as I pull up in front of the DX. "Mom-"

"Don't bring Mom into this. You think she'd be proud of you right now?"

I know she wouldn't be. But she paid the price for Dad's problems, so how Soda can sit there and say Dad never hurt any of us astounds me. "Soda-"

He cuts me off again. "Maybe you're the smartest guy on the entire East Side. Hell, I don't know, you probably are. But you ain't half the man Dad was, so don't go walkin' around like you're so much better than the rest of us."

"Go to hell," I manage to say, although it lacks any and all venom.

Soda looks at me, and I see him think of a dozen different responses. My brother can be real mean when he wants to be, so I'm sure he'll have something real good to say, and I brace myself for it. But it doesn't come. Instead he just looks at me sadly. And I think, _now that's more like Mom._

"Figure your shit out, Dar," he says finally, opening up the door. A gentle breeze ruffles my hair. "Figure it out, because I can't cover for you no more."

"Soda, _I'm sorry_."

He looks back. "So was Dad. All the time."

He doesn't have to say it, but I hear it anyway: _And you never forgave him_.

It's true. I didn't. I still don't. And maybe I never will. That's not how I want my brothers to feel about me.

"I'll come home tonight," I promise. "Check Ponyboy's homework. Bust your ass if Sandy's there. You know, the usual."

"Make sure you do," Soda says simply.

"I will," I insist. And I will, even though my body is already _screaming_ for another drink. I don't want to think about my parents. I don't want to think about _anything_. "I'll see you at home."

Soda squints in the sunlight. "Maybe."

* * *

Here's something I forgot about Diana. She just turns up out of the blue, wherever I happen to be. It happened in school, which made sense because she was dating my best friend at the time, but it has kept happening since then too. Like when I had stopped for a drink after work and she waltzed in, wearing that scrap of fabric she called a dress with that guy feeling all over her. Or when Soda brought her home from Buck's. I used to think it meant we belonged together, that no matter where we were we'd be pulled together like magnets, neither one of us able to resist the other.

Now, as I stare down at her from a roof two houses away, I don't know what to think.

I'm not the only one who sees her. Lou, new to the crew and my only company up here for this small job, eyes her appreciatively. "Now _that's_ a good lookin' girl."

Diana is running back and forth from her house to a yellow beetle parked in her driveway. Yellow. Like her dress. It must be her favorite color, I realize, remembering back when she told me I wasn't her friend because I didn't know the first thing about her. Her favorite color is yellow and she's afraid of the dark. Why am I just now learning all of this now when it's too late to do any good?

Lou opens up his mouth, no doubt to say something dirty about Diana, and I'm just not in the mood for it today. It might have been weeks since the break up, but I'll be damned if I want to sit up here and listen to her being insulted. "Knock it off," I warn.

"Shit, man, you know her?"

I look at Lou, sunburned and slightly older than me. Even while he's waiting on an answer from me, his eyes follow Diana back and forth. It pisses me off, and for a second I think about pushing him off the roof, but that's probably what Diana meant when she was telling me I had violent tendencies. So I don't.

"I don't gotta know her to not want to hear you talk shit about her," I finally say, which makes me a hypocrite because just the other night Two-Bit and I were rating the women at Rusty's on a ten point scale. But Lou doesn't have to know that.

Lou shrugs and gets back to work. But as if she can sense my presence, Diana looks up. _She ought to be in school,_ I think suddenly as my hand goes up in an awkward attempt at a wave. _Jesus_. I can pick up any woman in a bar, something I've proven to myself these last few weeks, but Diana _looks_ at me and I'm worse than useless.

She waves back, though. So there's that.

* * *

"Well, they didn't move you up a year because of your math skills," I inform Ponyboy, looking over his Algebra homework. "Start it over again."

Ponyboy rolls his eyes. "It's fine, Darry. It's not even due till Thursday."

I raise a hand to my temples, unwilling to fight with him tonight. The only math I'm interested in right now is how much cheap liquor my dad has left, and how long it'll be until someone notices it's missing. "Fine. What _is_ due tomorrow?"

"Nothing." He thinks. "I've got a quiz in American History tomorrow. I didn't do so hot on the last one-"

"What?" I ask sharply. "What do you mean you didn't do so hot?"

"I got a B," he explains. "Soda said it was good, but Mrs. Lamm was disappointed."

I groan. Of course Soda would think a B was good; to Soda, anything not failing counted as success. But Ponyboy can do better. I know that. Judging by the way he looks at me, he knows it too. "Well, go study. I'll quiz you before bed."

Ponyboy nods, grabbing for his math homework and stuffing it back in his backpack. "Any other bad grades I need to know about?"

He shakes his head and a piece of hair falls into his eyes. He shoves it back, and I'm struck for a moment by how much he looks like Soda. "No, I got an A on the English composition I turned in last week."

"English composition?"

"I told you about it," Ponyboy insists. "You looked it over and said it was great."

"Oh, yeah." I don't remember any of that. "Guess I must've been tired." Or drunk, but I don't say that.

Pony nods. "Yeah, Soda said you've been picking up a lot of extra shifts lately."

Well thank God for Soda. And thank God too for my naive little brother who would rather see his family through rose colored glasses.

"Well, make sure you keep bringing home those good grades," I say, mildly enough to my ears but Ponyboy looks offended.

"I'm doing my best!" he scowls.

"I'm sure you are," I say.

I'm sure Ponyboy and I are about to argue, lately I can't seem to do anything right by anybody, but the timely appearance of Two-Bit puts an end to that.

"Good morning, Curtises!" Two-Bit cries, letting the front door slam.

"It's six in the evening," Ponyboy protests.

Two-Bit grins. "So I slept in."

"You missed school again," Ponyboy informs him.

"Shoot, I knew I forgot something." Two-Bit throws himself down at the table. "So what're you two doing?"

"Just checkin' homework," I say, before Ponyboy can say that I'm threatening him or something. "Go study, Ponyboy."

He doesn't argue for once, cowed by the presence of Two-Bit I guess. When he's gone, Two-Bit fixes me with a shrewd look. "You goin' out tonight?"

"No." It isn't the answer I want to give, but it's the answer I know I have to. "Soda read me the riot act this morning. Said I wasn't living up to my potential as a guardian."

Two-Bit nods. "I figured you'd come to your senses eventually."

I think about Two-Bit, buddying around with me to every bar in a twenty mile radius these past few weeks. I thought it was because he wanted to be there too, but could he have been keeping an eye on me? The idea makes me pause. "Two-Bit-"

"So you give up on Miss Soc?"

My heart contracts painfully when I think of Diana. "She's not a Soc," I insist, because I don't know what else to say.

"If you say so."

"I saw her today." It comes out before I can think about it. I don't usually confide in Two-Bit. Hell, I don't usually confide in anyone.

Two-Bit raises an eyebrow. "And did she throw herself at you? Spit on you and call you a piece of trash?"

"She waved." I shrug, like it's not a big deal, when really it's everything. "I think she was telling me the truth when she said she didn't cheat on me."

"Yeah?" Two-Bit asks, in a bored sort of voice. But I haven't got anyone else to talk to at the moment so he's shit out of luck. To his credit, he gives a game attempt to take an interest in my pathetic love life by asking, "what makes you think that?"

"Just a feeling."

He's quiet for a second. "You think she's worth all this?"

"Yeah." It's hard to explain to someone like Two-Bit, to whom women have always been somewhat disposable, the fascination Diana has always held for me. Sure, I have sex with lots of different women, but when it comes to relationships there's no one for me but Diana. And even that's mostly sex. I put my head in my hands, groaning. God, I need a drink.

"You can do better."

Two-Bit's words take me by surprise. I look up. "No I can't." I say flatly. "There's no one else for me but Diana. I've been with lots of girls and no one else even comes close to being what I want. She's it. She's the end of the line for me."

"I'll have to use that line sometime, I bet it's a real panty peeler."

I laugh, even though I was being completely serious. When it comes to sex I'll take just about anyone, but Diana is the only girl I've ever actually given a damn about. Even the year I spent with Priscilla was motivated more by her tits than any actual feeling on my behalf. "Maybe I should go try it on Diana, see where it gets me."

Two-Bit looks thoughtful. "Did she ever give you back your book?"

* * *

When he opens the door, Mr. Hayes looks surprised to see me. He looks older than I remember, more careworn. But he manages to smile at me and ask what I'm there for.

"I was hoping to talk to Diana," I say.

I'm not sure what kind of reception I'll get from Diana's dad, because even though he's smiling at me I'm still the guy who implied his daughter was a whore. Who knows what Diana told her parents about our breakup? But I scrubbed myself down with a bar of Ivory soap before driving over here, so at least her mom won't be able to look at me like I'm a piece of filth this time.

Mr. Hayes's smile looks a bit strained, but it hangs in there. "I'm sorry, Darrel. My daughter doesn't live here anymore."

Shock doesn't even begin to describe how I feel. "She doesn't?" I manage to ask, as if somehow she's just living in the basement or something and her dad will remember if I give him a second.

But he just shakes his head sadly. "I'll get you her address if you'd like."

I nod. "Please."

He invites me inside to wait. Their house isn't as warm as I remember, or as inviting. It's as if Diana's absence has sucked all the joy right out of the Hayes's household. Everything is still the same, from the pictures on the wall to the couch where I first nailed their daughter, but something is definitely missing.

"When did she move out?" I ask when he hands me the piece of paper with her new address written on it. There's something familiar about it, something I can't quite put my finger on, but I don't think about it right then.

"Oh, about the time she dropped out of college," he remarks dryly.

"I had no idea." It's important to me that he knows I had nothing to do with this. It's not my fault. I didn't drag their daughter down. I never wanted anything but for Diana to stay with her parents and finish school like I wanted to do myself. This isn't my fault. It isn't my fault.

"It's not my fault." I only say it out loud to myself when I'm safely back in my truck. It's true, I think. That Diana would see me as some sort of trailblazer is laughable. After all, I didn't choose this path, it was chosen for me.

I glance back down at the address written on the small piece of paper. _Why does it seem so familiar_?

And that's when I realize where Diana moved. And I start to laugh.

* * *

"Oh shit," Frank Wallis says with alarm when he opens up he apartment door and sees me. He turns to someone just slightly out of my line of sight. "You really weren't kidding when you told me I was only your second string boyfriend."

Miriam Becksworth steps into view. She takes one look at me and makes a face at Frank. "Don't be stupid. He's not here for me. Diana!" She hollers. "Your ex-boyfriend is here!" A slight pause and she adds, "not the one I slept with!"

I cringe to hear myself described as her ex. To me, that's Paul. It's true, I guess, I just don't like it much.

Diana emerges from what I can only guess is her bedroom. Her forehead wrinkles and she says, in that breathless little voice that's turned me on since high school, "Darrel, what are you doing here?"

"I heard this was where all the college dropouts were hanging out these days," is the first (stupid) thing out of my mouth. And that's what I mean when I say Diana makes me useless; it's a dumb thing to say and I'd never say it to anyone but her.

She colors. "So you heard about that, huh?"

"I went to your house first," I answer, and then we just look at each other.

Miriam coughs politely and prods Frank. "Hey, let's take a walk. It's not fully dark yet, so we've only got a fifty percent chance of getting mugged."

"I don't know, are you going to throw acorns at me again?" Frank asks.

Miriam scowls and prods him harder. "I'll start throwing bricks if you don't get a move on. Jesus, you take hints like you play football- badly."

They make a ruckus gettin out the door, but finally they're gone and it's just me and Diana. She looks nervous to be left alone with me, and I can't say I blame her. Things got pretty heated last time we talked. I pull my hands out of my pockets, trying to look less… frightening, I guess. I end up crossing my arms before I think maybe that's not any better, so finally I just let my arms dangle by my sides.

"What're you doing here?" She asks.

"You still have my book," I remind her. "I want it back."

She nods. "Of course. I'll go get it."

I follow her back to her bedroom. "Interesting company you're keeping these days," I remark as I watch her search around for my book in the boxes that litter her floor.

"Oh, are we remarking on each other's friends now?" Diana asks. "Last time I questioned _yours_ I ended up with a hand over my mouth and you told me it was none of my business."

"I'm sorry." I mumble it because I hate apologizing, but at least I'm saying it. That ought to count for something. "It was a rotten thing to do to you."

"Yes." That's all she says as she hands me my copy of "The Carpetbaggers".

My fingers brush against hers as I take the book from her hand. "Dally got arrested again. He punched a guy at the candy counter." Diana looks disgusted and immediately I regret my honesty. But it's what she said she wanted, so… "And last time he got arrested for breaking all the windows at the school."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry I believed Paul when he said you two slept together."

"I'm sorry I gave you reason to believe him. You weren't wrong when you said I still had feelings for him. I acted inappropriately, and I'm sorry for that." She bites her lip and looks down. "I'm sorry."

It hurts to hear that she still has feelings for Paul, but deep down I think I always knew she did. "I guess it's not surprising. You dated him for years and you hadn't been broken up for very long when I started chasin' after you. Of course you still have feelings for him."

"Had."

"Had?"

She raises her eyebrows. "How dumb do you think I am? He told you I slept with him! What if you _were_ violent? What if I actually _was_ afraid of you? He's a moron! I wish, well, I wish a lot of things." She takes a deep breath. "Did you need anything else?"

I shake my head, moving aside so that she can get past me. "I don't need anything, no."

"Do you _want_ anything else?"

Well, that's a loaded question if I ever heard one. "Why'd you drop out?"

"Because I'm sick of living out everyone else's dreams," she answers. "Why'd you take up with a cocktail waitress five seconds after we broke up?"

"Who the hell told you that?"

She crosses her arms. "Was I misinformed?"

I can feel the heat spreading across my face as I follow her back to the living room. "I'd hardly call it 'taking up with her'. I didn't even get her name."

"I don't see a point in taking art classes," she says, and I'm confused before I realize she's answering my question from earlier. She drops down onto the couch, and after a second I sit down beside her. "So I dropped out and gave my dad back his money."

"I see."

She looks at me like she's expecting me to start yelling at her or something. It's the same way Ponyboy looks at me sometimes, and while I don't mind seeing it on my kid brother's face, it's a little strange to see on my nineteen year old girlfriend's face. _Ex_ , I remind myself. And then I wonder, _am I that much of an asshole?_

"I didn't just drop out with no plan," she informs me. "I talked to my grandmother about it, and she's giving me the money to go back next semester. It's the money she's going to leave me in her will anyway, but she said I might as well enjoy it now. She's terribly offended that my father thinks women are helpless. She worked two jobs to when she first came to this country, and apparently my mom worked to support him when he was in law school. So I don't know why me having a career offends him so much."

It seems obvious to me that he wants her to have the sort of life better than his mother or wife, but I don't say that. Instead I nod. "Go on.'

"I found a job at a law firm to see if I even _like_ working at a law firm. Next semester I'll probably have to waitress or something just because of my class schedule, but I thought this seemed like a good idea for the moment."

"Seems reasonable," I say mildly, and Diana's face is so disbelieving that it actually amuses me. "Is that what you want to be then? A lawyer?"

"Oh, yes," she says. "By the way, I tried to sleep with Cal."

"You WHAT?" I open my mouth to tell her what a dumb idea that was, to really lay into her about it, and then I remember that I don't have any sort of right to do that. And so I grit my teeth and force myself to sit back down. "Fascinating. How utterly _fascinating._ "

She giggles. "I'm sorry, you were just being so calm about everything I had to make sure you were really Darrel Curtis and not an alien."

"So you _didn't_ try to sleep with Cal?"

"Oh no, I did. But those among us who can't even remember the names of the girls they've had sex with maybe shouldn't throw stones."

"I'm not throwing stones. I'm just…" I trail off. "Shit, Diana. I know we're broken up, but…"

"I know," she says softly. "That's the way I felt when I heard about your waitress."

"Your favorite color is yellow."

"Darry-"

"I love you." It takes me a minute to get it out, but I finally manage to say it. After all, denying how I felt never got me anywhere with her. There's nothing to lose now by being honest.

"I love you too." She reaches for my hand but changes her mind at the last minute. "I don't know if we can fix this, Darry."

"We can." There are some benefits to being the most stubborn bastard I know. "I will."

She looks skeptical. "You're not good at communicating with me. Legs spread, mouth closed. That's how you want me."

"It's not!" But I know, at least from her point of view, that it's a valid assessment. It's easier for me to have sex with her than to talk to her. I'm good at sex. "I swear, Diana. It's not just sex."

"Six months, no sex."

"No Paul," I counter. "No Cal either."

"Agreed. No fighting anybody."

"I can't promise that."

She thinks about it. "No _unprovoked_ fighting."

"Alright. Call your dad."

"He'll yell at me!"

I think of her dad's face and I'm almost certain he won't. "If he does, hang up. But call him?"

"Fine."

"Friday night. I'll take you out for a burger."

"I'll pay."

"Absolutely not!" She crosses her arms, and I groan. " _Fine_. But don't tell anyone, okay?"

"Okay." She thinks. "No more drinking. I'm scared for you."

"I thought you were scared _of_ me."

Her face turns pink. "I'm sorry I said that. I didn't mean it. Not really."

"I think we both have regrets." I take her hand. "What else do you want from me, huh? You'd better ask now."

"I want to take it slow this time. Last time we rushed it, and you gave me your ring just because you thought I was going to run around on you. I want you to want me because you can't imagine your life without me. Not because you don't want anyone else to have me." She looks at me, like she's worried how I'll react. "And I want to meet your friends. Not right away, but eventually. I don't want you to pretend to be someone you aren't. I think we both got too caught up in who we thought we should be. And maybe that's because we don't know who we are, but I want you to know who I actually am. And I want to know who you are, too. The _real_ you. Not the you you're pretending to be."

"Fine. Is that everything?"

"It's just one date," she warns. "I'm not promising we're going to get back together."

"Fair enough. I don't even know if I like this Diana. You're awful mouthy. Why can't you just look at me adoringly and giggle after everything I say?" She cuts me a dirty look and I grin. "I'm kidding."

"You aren't funny."

"I thought you wanted the real me."

She wrinkles her nose. "Maybe I ought to rethink that."

"Too late." I lean forward. "Can I kiss you now?"

She nods. I lean forward and press my lips against hers.

It's just a date. The rest of my life is a mess and I don't even know if I can uphold my part of the bargain between us: Even as my lips touch hers, I'm kind of craving a shot of bourbon. And I really don't want to go home and deal with my brothers. So it's not like having Diana back (maybe) solves all my problems. But it solves at least one of them, and maybe I can work on the rest.

I try not to think of my mother and the promises Daddy would give her, the promises that would make her so happy, at least for a minute. _I'm not my mother and I'm not my father either,_ I tell myself.

"Do you think we're making a mistake?" Diana asks quietly, as if she can sense my mother's ghost suddenly between us.

"No," I say after a minute. "No. I promise it's all uphill from here."

At this point, I figure, it can't get much worse.


	25. Chapter 25

**So... it's been a while! I took a break for personal reasons and wasn't sure if I was going to continue, but I couldn't quite stop thinking about this story.** **Thank you to those who PMd asking when I would update. And a giant THANK YOU to anyone who is still reading this story. This chapter contains anti-semitic slurs and a rather blasé treatment of sexual harassment. I hesitated to include it, but I thought it wouldn't be fair not to include some very real problems that Diana would face in a predominantly male workplace, as well as show a glimpse of one of the very real reasons her father would have not to want her to work.**

* * *

"So," Darry starts.

I perk up, listening, but he doesn't follow up with anything. Instead he takes a large gulp of water. Disappointed, I too turn to my water. We may not be rekindling our romance quite yet, but we are certainly well hydrated.

"How's work?" I ask, just to be saying something.

"You already asked me that," Darry notes. "Twice."

"Oh." I knew that, but it just kills me that we don't have anything to say to each other. Because we actually have _a lot_ to say to each other, I think, but right now we're just tap-dancing around trying to avoid anything contentious or interesting. "Well, maybe you thought of something new since the last time I asked you."

He snorts, and I feel a stab of pure exasperation. _He_ could try, _he_ could say something- and then I stop. Because he _is_ trying. And I'm trying too. It isn't his fault that there are things I don't want to talk about now, things I don't want to say.

I _hate_ my job. I thought it would be different, I thought it would give me some measure of respect, being a working woman with a place of her own, but it turns out that being on my own has consequences.

Oh, I thought I knew all about office flirtations and the things men will try to get away with if given the opportunity. But I didn't know _shit_. I didn't know about the hands that would try to touch me where I don't want to be touched, about the propositions that would be hinted at, or the ones that would be stated outright. I didn't know that without my father to stand up for me, or even a husband, I'd be fair game for all the lewd imaginings of men who really ought to know better.

Well, I know now. Not that there's anything I can do about it. Not with my father not speaking to me and rent due at the end of the month. I can't do anything but shut up and smile. And be a little quicker on my feet.

Darry slides the ice cube he's chewing on to the side of his mouth. "You okay?"

"Sure."

"I thought we agreed not to lie to each other anymore."

I force myself to grin. "Who's lying?"

He kicks me under the table. "You are. Knock it off."

I fold my arms, staring at my water glass. "I hate working."

He snorts again. "No kiddin'. Did I make it look too easy?"

"It isn't the work I hate. My boss is a pervert."

His eyebrows raise. "Yeah?"

I nod. "I thought I got the job because, I don't know, he recognized my inner greatness or something, but instead he just thought I had the best ass of all the girls he interviewed. That's what he told me, anyway."

"You do have a great ass."

I roll my eyes. "Not. Helping."

"I know." He munches away on his ice cube. "Move back in with your dad."

"No."

He crosses his arms and I see a muscle working in his jaw. "I can't do anything about it, Diana."

"I never _asked_ you to do anything about it!" I protest. "Jesus! I just wanted you to listen! You don't have to go around solving all my problems for me!" The girl from the table next to us, one half of a nice looking high school couple, looks at me in alarm. I'm raising my voice. I take a deep breath and run a hand through my hair. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to get upset."

"I'm not trying to be a jerk," he says uneasily. "He shouldn't be doing whatever it is he's doing to you. If I were… someone else… maybe, I don't know."

It finally occurs to me what he's trying to get at, and I could almost groan. He means _Paul_ , with his money and last name, could probably get him to stop. But not Darry, whose father is dead and who can't afford any legal trouble. So we've hit that greaser/soc divide once more. "I doubt anyone could do anything. He's too used to getting what he wants. Maybe my dad, but-" I break off. How could I call up my dad, whose last words to me were that if I did this he was washing his hands of me forever, and ask him to step in because my boss won't stop trying to feel me up. I sit up, and smile. "Anyway, this is an awful conversation for a first date. Let's talk about something else."

"My brother knocked up his girlfriend."

I choke on the water I'm drinking. "What?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. It's just what I thought about first. Soda's been seeing this girl for a few months, and I heard she's knocked up."

"He didn't _tell_ you?"

He shakes his head, looking angrier than I've ever seen him. "No. I don't know what he's thinking. But if he's thinking for one second that he can get out of this he's got another thing coming."

"She must be very young," I reflect, remembering that Soda would still only be in high school if he hadn't dropped out.

"Fifteen" Darry says softly.

Where was I at fifteen? Dating Paul, without a care in the world. How would my life have been upended if I'd gotten knocked up? Paul would have married me, there's no doubt about that, but it would have been the end of every dream I'd ever had. And to be sure I'd rather be getting pawed at by my lecherous boss than locked up in a gilded cage while life went on without me.

"It's _awful_ being a woman," I say, and I mean it, from the depths of my soul. So much of our lives depend on the whims of the men we know, and it's so unfair.

"Yeah, I imagine it is," Darry says. He looks away. "I asked my mom constantly why she never left my dad. She usually gave me some bullshit reason, but once she told me honestly that she had nowhere to go. And I realized it was true. She had three kids, no money of her own, and she'd dropped out of high school to marry my dad. She was stuck."

"I'm so afraid of ending up like that," I confess in a rush, not thinking that I might be offending him by telling him that his mother's life is my own personal nightmare. "My mom hasn't ever had a thought my father didn't put there first. I don't ever want to lose myself."

"You won't." Darry sounds so sure that I look at him. "I'm not just blowin' smoke up your butt, Diana. You're not going to end up like that at all. It's what I like about you. You can hold your own."

I don't know what to say to that. I feel like all I do is get pushed around. Especially now. "You think so?"

"Sure. You were out the door five seconds after you discovered Paul cheating on you-"

"I went back to him, though," I remind him, even though I'm sure it isn't necessary.

Indeed, he scowls for a second. "Not right away. You made him change first. Same with me. I think you're a stronger woman than you give yourself credit for."

Now I'm _really_ at a loss for words. "That's… that's so nice of you to say."

He leans back in his seat. "I'm not saying it to be nice. I'm saying it because it's true."

"So what do you think is going to happen to Soda and his girl?"

Darry shrugs. "That's for them to figure out."

"What would we do? If it were us, I mean."

I see him doing some very quick math in his head. "You aren't-"

"Of course not. I'm just asking. Hypothetically."

He stares into his water glass. It's empty, so no time delaying sip of water for him _this_ time. "Why do I feel like saying I'd do the right thing and marry you is exactly the _wrong_ thing to say?"

"I'm not sure what I want you to say," I confess.

"Can we talk about something else?" He begs.

I wonder if he gets the same awful, icy fear I do when I think about having kids. It's possible. So I let him off the proverbial hook, just this once, and give him a flirtatious smile. "We could always talk about that piece of filth you call a book. I thought the Jewish stereotypes were awful, by the way."

"Well, shoot. This doesn't sound much better."

"No, I thought the book as a whole was quite interesting. I can see why _you_ like it."

"Why does that feel like an insult?"

"It's not meant to be." I pick up one of my old French fries, now cold. "Do you like to read?"

He gives me a smile that can only be called sardonic. "Yeah, in all that spare time I have."

"Well, before you had to work two jobs. Did you like to read?"

Darry has to think about it. "Yeah. I did."

"What other books did you like?"

He leans forward, eyes bright despite himself. He's so smart, and life is so unfair. But he has a lot to say about this topic because apparently Darrel Curtis liked to read _a lot._

* * *

"D'you want to come up?" I ask him when he drops me off at Miriam's- no, _my_ \- apartment.

"I think I'd better not," he says after thinking it over. "Not if you're serious about your six month rule."

I'm a little disappointed, but I think it's for the best. I tell him as much, adding, "I think tonight is the first real conversation we've ever had."

"It isn't," he argues. "But it might be the first one that hasn't ended in sex."

"How many girls did you go through while we were separated?"

He coughs. "I beg your pardon?"

"How many girls did you go through while we were separated?"

"You really gotta know that?" When I just continue looking at him expectantly, he groans. "Five, okay? Jeeze, Diana. I didn't think I'd ever see you again and I was drunk out of my mind half the time. Are you mad?"

"Honestly, I'm just a little surprised it was only five," I tease. I could _die_ of jealousy but refuse to admit it. They were probably all blonde, and busty, I think to myself. But at least he's here with me now. It's me he really wants. It consoles me just a little.

"You tryin' to say something about me, Diana?"

"Only that if you were a girl, we'd have called you something in high school. Rhymes with _mutt_."

His eyes narrow. "Oh, yeah? And how far did things go with Cal?"

"Oh, we were naked and he was on top of me," I say breezily, and the jealousy in his eyes soothes my vanity that was wounded by the cocktail waitresses. "But then I told him I changed my mind. He told me I was crazy, but he stopped. There was only one of him, though."

He doesn't say anything, and so I slide across the front seat of his truck (did Soda knock up his girlfriend in this truck, I wonder, but then I shake my head and the thought disappears) and touch his arm. "Are you still interested in one of those other women?"

"You're gonna ask me that after the way I went crawlin' on my belly to beg you for a second chance? Really?" He looks like he's about to take me in his arms, but then he thinks better of it and shoves his hands in his pockets. "You're all I want, Diana. You're all I've _ever_ wanted."

Pacified now, I rest my head on his shoulder. "I think we're getting better."

"Yeah?"

"Maybe this could work."

" _God,_ I hope so." He takes one hand out of his pocket to run over his face. "You have no idea, Diana. No idea at _all_ -" he breaks off, taking a deep breath.

Alarmed, I pick my head up off his shoulder. "I'm here now," I remind him.

"For the moment," he mutters. "Till I screw up again."

" _Don't_." I warn. "Don't start that again."

"Start what?" He demands. "I'm just trying to tell you how much you mean to me-"

"By demeaning yourself! I don't like it. You're not perfect, but you're a lot better than some guys-"

"A lot worse too! You could do better and you know it-"

"There's no one better than you!" It comes out before I can really think about what I'm saying, but once it's out I realize that it's probably true. He has issues, but he also just has this intrinsic _goodness_ about him. He gave up everything for his kid brothers: How many guys would do the same?

Darry's ears turn bright red. I can tell he's embarrassed. "Um, well." He clears his throat. "Thanks, I guess."

"You're welcome." If I'm honest, my face is also an interesting shade of crimson. "I should probably go."

"Yeah." he licks his lips apprehensively as I study his face. "So, uh, in all honesty d'you think tonight was good or bad?"

"It was okay." His face falls ever so slightly, and I amend it. "It was good. You didn't even complain when I paid the bill."

He makes a face, but then he grows serious. "I really do wish there was something I could do about your boss."

I shrug. "It's not so bad. It could be worse."

"Could be better, too." He reaches out to hold my hand. "You want to come for supper next Sunday?"

My heart skips a beat. "Really?"

"If you want. I'd really like you to meet them. Well, I guess you already know Soda, but you haven't met Pony yet."

"I'd like that."

"Great. So what're you going to make for us? We're not picky- trust me, that's going to hurt you more than it'll hurt me." He laughs at my balled up fist as I'm preparing to slug him in the shoulder. "Who the hell taught you to throw a punch?"

"Nobody." I study my fist. "What am I doing wrong?"

"Thumb on the outside." I correct it, and he nods. "Come back next week and I'll teach you how to bust up a soda bottle and use it as a weapon."

I laugh. "Wouldn't that surprise Mr. Sykes?"

Darry looks thoughtful. "That _is_ something I can do. I can show you how to defend yourself."

"So what you're telling me is there _are_ some benefits to dating an East Side hood?"

I'm worried I've gone too far, but he actually grins. "Well, I wouldn't want Paul teachin' you how to throw a punch, that's for damn sure."

 _I'm more of a lover than a fighter,_ I can remember Paul telling me once, probably with a wink. _Shut up,_ I tell his memory. _Shut up, shut up, shut up._

Unaware of my inner dialogue, Darry is continuing. "Don't expect me to start totin' you around to rumbles or anything, but there are things you can do to stop someone from grabbing you. And everyone ought to know how to throw a punch."

"Rumbles, huh? You go to a lot of them?"

"Not anymore. Someone said I should stop fighting. God help me if I get jumped."

"You know _good_ and _well_ that I told you if someone else threw the first punch it was okay to hit back!"

"It was a joke," he protests with a laugh. It's amazing how much younger he looks when he laughs. "Just like when I asked what you were makin'. Of course I'll do the cooking."

"Please. You can't even scramble an egg properly. I'll cook."

"Can _you_ cook?"

"Are you really in a position to judge?"

He laughs again. "Guess not. Fine. Come over. Cook for us. Maybe you can clean up, too."

"Don't push your luck, Curtis."

He kisses me then. Slowly. And then he says, "I love you, Diana. I don't know if we're back to saying that or not, but I love you."

"I love you, too." My voice is soft, and I have no idea how he thinks I have any sort of strength to me at all when I'm all too easily undone. "I love you so much."

Another kiss, one that threatens to turn into something more, before he pulls away. "Come on," he says abruptly. "I'll walk you to your door."

* * *

The sun is warm on my upper thighs, but I hardly feel it because of the sudden chill I feel inside. "You told me Cal wouldn't be here," I whisper urgently to Lucy. "You told me he was moving out."

"Moving," Lucy notes. "Not _moved_. And I didn't think he would be. What's the big deal, anyway?"

I smooth down the skirt of my tennis uniform. Tennis Sundays may have been downsized from Lucy's backyard to Lucy and Tedy's balcony, but since the object of these Sundays was just to look cute we haven't let it phase us. The mimosas still taste the same, and that's all that matters.

"Darry asked me not to be around him." _Why_ oh why is my skirt so short? I feel like Cal's eyes are looking right up it. Not that he hasn't seen me naked already, but still.

"And of course what Darry says is law." Frustration makes Lucy's voice harsher than normal. "I thought you were finally done with him."

"I don't think I'll ever be done with him."

"You have the worst taste in guys. Good morning, Cal." Her voice, harsh with me, is suddenly all honey with Cal as he steps inside. "What brings you by?"

He leers at us, but it's the type of leer I might love if I hadn't promised Darry to stay away from him, the one that says _you are turning me on so much right now._ Lucy preens, subtly pulling her skirt up to make sure Cal gets an eyeful. Despite Teddy, I don't think she'll ever turn away from male attention. Cal's eyes rake over my body, and I know he's thinking about what I look like naked and imagining what we could have done if I weren't crazy.

 _You are never going to be more than a long-legged paper doll for men to hang their fantasies on,_ whispers an ugly voice inside my head. For a second I wish I could just disappear, but then I think of Darry and I know it isn't true. I straighten in lawn chair, and give Cal a cool glance. So what if he's seen me naked? It'll never happen again and he know it.

Seeing that I'm a no go, he turns expectant eyes to Lucy. Lucy gives her slow smile and arches her back as she tosses her hair over her shoulder. It's all the invitation Cal needs to trail one finger up Lucy's leg where it disappears beneath his skirt.

 _I am right here and Teddy is right inside the door._ It's what I want to say as I watch this terrible tableau play out in front of me. I should say something, and if there were any hint that Lucy wasn't perfectly willing I would, but instead I just watch dumbly, wishing for that strength Darry thinks 've got hidden away somewhere.

It's Teddy who breaks it up, Teddy who pokes his head out the door. If he's alarmed by the sight of Cal pawing at Lucy and Lucy's obvious reciprocating interest, he doesn't show it. "Gregory, can I speak to you in the house please?"

Cal looks up, hand still on Lucy's leg. "I'm a little busy at the moment."

Teddy clears his throat. "Now, please, before I throw you over the railing."

"What was _that_?" I ask Lucy as Cal and Teddy both disappear.

Her eyebrows raise. "Oh, what, he isn't good enough for you so he shouldn't be good enough for _anyone_?"

I'm so confused. "I never said that. But you have Teddy-"

Lucy shrugs. "I was just flirting. It doesn't mean anything. If you think back real hard, I'm sure you can remember what flirting is. You did it a lot before you took up with Attila the Hun and became completely uninteresting."

I get to my feet. "There's no need to be awful, Luce. You don't like Darry, fine. You never liked Paul either. But you're being downright nasty today, and you can say it was just flirting with Cal, but we both know it was more than that."

For a second Lucy looks angry, but then she slumps over in her seat, hugging her knees. "I'm pregnant."

I blink. "That seems to be going around lately."

Lucy's head jerks up. "Are _you-"_

"Of course not!" The idea horrifies me just as it always does. "Darry's always _very_ careful."

Her heads droops again. "I thought I was, too. But I missed this month and now I'm puking up my guts every morning, so I guess I wasn't as careful as I thought I was."

"So what're you going to do?"

"There's a doctor in Oklahoma City." I must look as shocked as I feel because Lucy gives a half smile. "It's not so bad. He fixed Therese right up when she got herself into a bind last year. She's right as rain now."

I can't blame Therese for not wanting another child. She has six already. "And what does Teddy think?"

"Oh, he wants to get married." She rolls her eyes and blows her curls out of her face. "Out of the frying pan and into the fire."

We're distracted from further conversation by Cal, who comes back out onto the balcony. This time, he doesn't even look at Lucy. Whatever Teddy said must have been effective. He crosses the patio to where Lucy and I are sitting and looks down at me like he'd like to break me open and see what makes me tick.

"How about you and me go to a movie Saturday night?" He asks finally, like he wasn't just fondling my best friend.

Surprise makes me slow to react, but after Lucy prods me with her foot I remember to shake my head. "No, thank you."

"She and Darrel are back together," Lucy chimes in.

Not quite, I want to add, but don't. Perhaps now isn't the best time.

Cal's lip curls. I'm not stupid enough to think that it's me he wants. I'm just ammo to use against the boy he always hated, the greaser who trashed his car and got away with it. It might also be a pride thing: I was a tease and I damaged his ego. It might even be a dig at Lucy. There are so many potential motives, and desire for me is at the bottom of the list.

"I didn't think you were the kind of girl who shared," he says. I raise me eyebrows and say nothing, so he adds, "I saw Darrel out with some brunette last week. He looked pretty cozy."

Lucy laughs, a mocking laugh that lets me know she's back in my corner. "You gossip worse than the girls in my sorority. Jealousy isn't a good look for you."

He flushes. "Who's jealous? I wouldn't have been caught dead trying to fuck Holden's cast off kike if she hadn't come on to me first. Only a nobody like Curtis would think that was appealing."

Lucy gasps, but the vitriol in Cal's voice is so over the top that I laugh outright. "It must have really bugged you, Cal. All those years of coming in second to a 'nobody like Curtis'. And now here you are, not even in the running."

Cal looks absolutely livid, and it's almost comical the way his eyebrows pull towards the middle of his face. I laugh again, and I think it infuriates him more than if I'd thrown a punch. He's angry, so angry, and I'm just not taking him seriously. It's a feeling I'm too familiar with, the desperation and hopelessness of being dismissed. He doesn't realize it, but for one brief moment in time I think Gregory Calhoun is closer to understanding me than anyone on Earth.

Cal gets to his feet, but he can't resist throwing the last word in. "Paul was right, you are a trashy slut."

"What a jerk," Lucy says indignantly when he's gone. "I can't believe I thought about sleeping with him."

I snort. But after a second, I ask, "d'you think Paul really said that about me?"

Lucy looks over at me curiously. "Does it matter?"

I close my eyes and let the last rays of summer heat warm my face. "No. Of course it doesn't."


	26. Chapter 26

**So, at long last, we move into the events of the novel. While I plan to keep all the events that occurred in "The Outsiders", I did condense some of the dialogue to make it better fit my story.**

* * *

"We're really bad at this," Diana observes. "Or maybe really good, depending on how you look at it."

I don't say anything. I'm too busy staring at the ceiling, trying to calm down.

"At least we stopped ourselves," she continues cheerfully. "So that's an improvement."

"Hooray."

She laughs at my obvious lack of enthusiasm. "But think how much it says about our characters. We're growing as people. We've come to value conversation instead of physical attractiveness-"

"I _really_ wish you'd find a shirt."

"I think I'll pass."

"Now you're just teasing me."

"You're the one who wanted to stop," she's quick to remind me. "I'm not a tease, I'm _not_ -"

"I didn't call you one! Well, I guess I kinda did, but I didn't mean it like that," I protest. "Oh, hell. Maybe we just ought to start over."

"Alright," she agrees. "What did you even stop by for, anyway?"

"Can't I just stop by and see you because I love you?"

"You don't even remember, do you?"

"It'll come back to me in a second!" I protest. It's true, I can't remember. All I know is I got here, she looked so good I had to kiss her, and now here we were in her bed. I sit up, thinking maybe if I get up I'll remember something other than how good it felt to touch her again.

"Are you okay?"

I must have winced when I sat up, I realize. "I think I pulled something at work today."

"You need some aspirin?"

That sounds good, but I don't want to admit that my back actually hurts pretty bad. Diana knows me pretty good by now, though; even though I just kind of shrug when she asks, she gets up anyway and goes to get the bottle.

"You've got more pride than sense," she says as she hands me the bottle. "Would it kill you to admit you can't do everything?"

"It might. I'd better not risk it."

Her eyebrows shoot up as I start dry swallowing pills. "Do you _always_ take six at a time?"

"If I take any less they just laugh at me."

"It seems dangerous."

"I'm a big boy, Diana, I know how to handle aspirin."

She frowns, but lets it go. "I'm actually glad you showed up," she finally says. "I was planning to call you later."

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to a party tomorrow."

" _Are_ you? Whose party?"

"Lucy and Teddy's. It's an engagement party. They're having it at Southern Hills, so you know it'll be fancy."

"And who's going to be there?"

"I didn't ask for a guest list, Darrel." She crosses her arms. "Let's be clear, I'm not asking for permission. I'm just telling you what's going on. It's my best friends engagement party and I'm not going to miss it because you're feeling insecure-"

"Hey, hey! I didn't say you couldn't go!" A poor choice of words, I realize belatedly; if looks could kill, Diana's would murder me on the spot. "Jesus! It's not my decision to make! I get it, I get it!"

" _Good._ "

"I just want to know who's going. I'm curious."

"I really don't know, but I'm sure it'll be full of people you hate."

"I don't _hate_ anyone."

"Oh, I can think of at least one person you hate."

"I have every right to hate Paul!"

Diana's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Wait, what? I was talking about Cal. Do you really hate Paul?"

"Yes." I don't ask if she does. I don't want to know the answer.

She shifts uncomfortably, but then says brightly. "I don't think Paul is even invited, if that makes you feel better."

It's pathetic, but it does make me feel better. "I hope you have fun."

She kisses me. "You could always come with me."

"Gee, I'd love to join you at the country club, but I've already made plans to stab myself repeatedly with a dull butter knife-"

She swats at me. "Oh, stop."

"-which is bound to be more fun and annoy me much less."

"You don't have to go." Her face twists in annoyance but then she perks up. "I bought the perfect dress. Do you want to see it?"

I don't really, but she's already rummaging through her closet to pull out a red dress. "What do you think?"

"I hope you didn't pay a lot for it, it's missing some fabric." I poke my finger at it. "What happened?"

"It's a cutout. It's very fashionable."

"In my neighborhood we call those _holes_."

"Don't be ridiculous. I think it'll look good on me."

It probably will. _Too good._ I think about it, her in that dress and all those country club boys flirting with her. _Hell no,_ I think. _Absolutely not._

"So what time should I pick you up?"

"Really?"

"Yeah," I grumble. I'm not happy about it, but it beats losing her. And I can't forget what happened last time she went to a party without me.

I don't think I'll ever forget that.

"You can pick me up at six."

She beams, and suddenly it's all worth it. I do love her, so I'll take her to this stupid party even if I really would rather stab myself with a butterknife. Without thinking about it, I press my lips against hers.

She kisses me back, and suddenly we're in danger again of forgetting that we're supposed to be waiting six months before doing anything. It's hard to remember, but I don't want to give her an excuse to leave me, so I make myself pull away.

I don't want to be something she regrets.

"Diana?" She nips at my neck instead of answering and I almost lose the battle with myself. "I don't think you really want to do this."

"Yeah, I do." She never did put a shirt on, I realize. "Don't you?"

 _More than anything._ "You know I do, but you really ought to think about this."

"Oh, believe me. I _am_ thinking about it." She kisses me again, straddling my hips.

I kiss her back, tangling my hand in her hair. Only when she starts to work my shirt off do I speak up. "No, really. Think about it for more than five seconds. You said this was important to you-"

She pulls away, and even though I'm the one trying to talk some sense into her, I'm still disappointed.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." She sighs. "You're a really great guy, you know that?"

"Yeah, I'm fantastic." I'm both mad at myself and proud of myself, and I don't enjoy the mixup of emotions. "Hey, do me a favor?"

Her smile is so, so sweet. "Anything."

I press my forehead against hers. " _Find a shirt_."

* * *

When I get home, trouble is waiting for me.

Dallas Winston is lying flat on his back on my couch, one hand pressed against his forehead. "Hey, Superman, where ya been?"

I slam the door behind me. It's not that I'm sad to see a buddy get out of jail, but life is undeniably less complicated when Dally is locked up. _Just in time for Diana to cook supper for us_ , I think, and then I stop. Shit. _That's why I went to her house after work._

"He and his girl got back together," Soda says, coming in from the kitchen.

"Yeah? You and the rich boy work out some kind of schedule?"

He wants a reaction, so I don't give him one. Instead, I flip through the bills. We're almost caught up: Only about half of them have FINAL NOTICE stamped across the front envelope.

"Amos Jenkins is lookin' for you." Seeing he's not getting the reaction he wants, Dally switches tactics. "Something about fucking his sister."

"I don't know Amos Jenkins _or_ his sister. Here, Soda, go by Monday and pay that, would you?" I hand Soda one of the envelopes. "Where the hell is Ponyboy?"

"His sister works at Rusty's," Dally says. "She's a waitress."

"He said he might go see a movie after school," Soda says.

"Well, shit." I'm talking to Dally, not Soda. "I guess I might know his sister. Did he go alone, Soda?"

"I guess so," my unhelpful brother says with a shrug. "He'll be fine. You ride him too hard as it is."

"I haven't even said anything!"

"Amos is lookin' to kick your ass," Dally throws in. "His sister took it awful hard when you didn't call her the next day."

"I know that look," Soda says darkly. "And I'm tellin' you, lay off."

"What look? I'm fine-"

Soda give _me_ a look. "Liar."

"I just want him to use his head! It's not like I'm askin' him to do anything hard! Do you think walking alone is a good idea after what happened to Johnny?" Soda doesn't say anything, knowing I'm right. "I bet he doesn't even have his blade, and knowing him he won't even call for a ride when it's over-"

"I think you could take him." Dally keeps going, like Soda and I aren't fixing to fight right here and now. "He's one of those boys out of Brumly. All mouth, no brain. Thinks his sister was the Virgin Mary, for God's sake, like her name's not scribbled down on more bathroom stalls than Sylvia's-"

"Jesus Christ, Dally!" I raise my voice and my hands, suddenly sick of everyone in this house. "Just give him my address and shut up already! And _you!"_ I point a finger at Soda. "You can just shut your mouth already, thinkin' you know every goddamn thing. I know what you've been up to lately and so help me God-"

Soda isn't paying me any attention. His face is scrunched up and his head is cocked to the side, like he's listening to something only he can hear. "Darry, do you hear that?"

"I don't hear anything," I snap. "And if you think-"

I break off just then, and not just because Soda suddenly swears and bolts out the door. It's because I've just heard the same sound Soda did, the sound of my kid brother screaming for help.

* * *

"Son of a bitch," Soda swears when we find him.

Ponyboy is still screaming when we find him, screaming as a group of Socs pin him down. One sits on his chest, and four others pin him down. My blood runs cold.

They could kill him. They could really kill him.

When they hear us coming they scatter like cockroaches. Somewhere along the way we picked up Steve and Two-Bit. How I don't know. I don't really care. The Socs scatter and my brother just lays there.

He just lays there.

A fear grips my heart. _He's dead_.

I haul him to his feet and shake him, maybe a little harder than necessary, but I'm just so afraid in that moment that he's gone, that we've lost him too. I can't think for the rising panic in my chest. My heart feels like it could burst.

But then he gives a little moan. He's not dead, only dazed, and he looks at me just then like he hates me. "I'm okay. Quit shaking me, Darry, I'm okay."

He might be okay, but he's still a brat, still a pain in the ass… still I'm so glad he isn't dead. And maybe I was being too rough with him after he just got jumped. Jesus. Five on one, how is that even fair?

"I'm sorry," I say. And I stop shaking him, jam my own rather shaky hands into my pockets. He sinks back down to the ground. Maybe they didn't kill him, but if Johnny has proved anything, they don't need to kill you. "They didn't hurt you too bad, did they?"

They did. He's shaking and he looks about ready to cry. Hell, I could cry myself. My kid brother. He's only fourteen. Fourteen is just a kid.

"I'm okay," he says, more out of stubborness than anything else. He looks relieved when Soda comes back, and I'm suddenly jealous of their easy bond.

 _I'm your brother too!_ I want to scream. _I'm just as relieved, was just as terrified._ But I keep my mouth shut. They've always had a close bond. From the day mom brought Pony home from the hospital, he was always Soda's pet.

They're still talking, Soda and Pony, and finally Ponyboy starts to cry. But before I can say anything comforting, something like _they had a knife, it's okay to cry_ or _I'd be scared too_ it's Soda who has him smiling again, and I have to swallow another sharp burst of jealousy.

"You're both nuts," I finally say, wanting in on this brotherly camaraderie. It's not fair that just because I'm suddenly their guardian I get shut out of everything. I didn't ask for it, I don't want it.

Soda sees through me in a hot second. "It seems to run in the family," he notes. And I have to smile too, because he's right, I am acting like a crazy man.

But I can't help it. It's what I was afraid of ever since we found Johnny in the lot. If I'm honest, it's what I've been afraid of ever since my parents died. I can't lose someone else. My thoughts are running wild. About a million different scenarios explode into my head simultaneously, and I feel sick to my stomach as I sort through them. He could have died. We could have been too late. We might not have heard him. The Socs might not have fled when we got here.

It all comes back to this: Ponyboy could be _dead_.

"I didn't think…" I hear him say, and I could laugh at the sheer predictability of his excuses.

"You don't ever think!" I'm almost hysterical. "Not at home, or anywhere when it counts."

Soda glares at me. As usual he's going to take Ponyboy's side. And I swear, Soda and me are about to fight. We're about to have a drag out, knock out fight, the kind only brothers can have. And maybe it's pointless, because we both want the same goddamn thing, after all, which is Ponyboy's safety, but we're never going to agree on how we accomplish that goal. No matter what I do Soda's always opposed to it. And I'm sick of it. I am so goddamned sick of it.

It's Dallas Winston, of all people, who distracts us. "I'm walkin' over to the Nightly Double tomorrow night. Anybody want to come and hunt some action?"

Maybe it's just a coincidence. Maybe all along he's been planning to go see a movie tomorrow night. But he knows as well as I do that whatever I say, Ponyboy will do the exact opposite. Undoubtedly Pony would be going to a movie tomorrow night just because I told him it was a dumb idea. This way, at least he won't be by himself.

It shouldn't be a surprise to me that the gang cares about my kid brother as much as I do, we've all grown up together, but I swear it is. I've gotten this idea in my head that I'm in this all alone, and maybe I've been ignoring the fact that I only have to ask and I could get as much help as I need.

There's a sudden rush of, if not affection, gratitude towards Dallas Winston. He's got Ponyboy's back, and having Dally on your side counts for something over in this side of town.

The warm, fuzzy feeling doesn't last long.

As we're leaving, making the trek back to our house, Dally hits me in the shoulder. "Maybe you ought to tell your buddies to leave your brother alone."

For the first time it occurs to me that I might know the guys who did this.

And I hate Dallas Winston more than ever for being the one to point it out to me.

* * *

Soda comes to my room later when I'm reading. Or more appropriately, trying to read. It's not just what happened before that distracts me, but the very nature of the book I'm reading. Diana swore up and down that _The Brothers Karamazov_ was her favorite book in the entire world. I found it hard to believe then, and even harder now that I'm actually a few chapters into the book.

It's not that I think Diana's an idiot. I know she isn't. But unless she somehow misread Dostoevsky as Harlequin, there's no way in hell she's read this book. I'm sorry, there just isn't.

At first I think Soda's there to finish our fight from earlier. Or maybe start it properly, since we never really got going earlier. Instead he holds up his hands in a gesture of supplication. "You were wincing earlier. You pull something at work again?"

I shrug, not wanting to look at him. I'm still hacked off from earlier, and if he thinks I'm going to forgive him so easily he's mistaken.

"I was gonna offer you a backrub," he says cheerfully. "But if you'd rather, suffer."

"Wait!" I call out, before he leaves. It's because my back hurts so much and not because I'm desperate for company or anything.

"So, what are you really doing tomorrow?" He asks me, kneading my shoulder. "I've seen your your schedule, you ain't workin'."

"I'm taking Diana out," I mumble. Stupid country club with its stupid people. I'd rather die than go there.

 _Ponyboy could be dead right now,_ whispers the little voice in my head.

 _But he's not_ , I answer back. I know he isn't. I know the worst thing that happened to him today was the cut on his face, a cut he didn't even want to put a bandaid on, but I still have to fight the urge to go check on him. He's in his room doing homework, or at least he _should_ be doing homework, but the impulse to make absolutely sure is so strong that I almost get up. Only Soda's hands hold me down.

"He's fine," Soda says gently. "He's a good kid-"

"And a whole lotta good that'll do him with those Socs," I snarl. I raise my voice an octave, doing a piss poor imitation of the Socs. "'Oooh, no, don't hurt him! He's a good kid!' Give me a break, Soda. He needs to get smarter or he's gonna get hurt."

Soda is quiet for a minute. "Do you really want him to get smarter, the way we're smart?"

I know what Soda means. There's something about Ponyboy that's just flat out good. A shiny quality, a newness to him that even living over here for fourteen years hasn't rubbed off of him. No, I don't want him to lose it. But I don't want to lose him, either.

"He's gotta grow up sometime," I argue. "Or we'll get a phone call one day that he's dead in a ditch somewhere and he'll never grow up at all."

"They're gettin' bolder, aren't they?" It takes me a second to realize Soda is talking about Socs. "Comin' into our territory and just jumping us like that. They used to at least wait till we were downtown or somethin'. What's that about?"

"Why are you asking me?" Visions of the kid I beat near to death float through my head, and I banish them as quick as I can. But not before I remember the feel of blood on my hands, the way it feels just to tear into someone's flesh just because you _can_. "I'm just as much a Greaser as you are! I don't have some sort of insight into their inner workings just 'cause you think I was one of them-"

"Calm _down!"_ Soda shoves me back down on the bed, hard. "You'll get Ponyboy in here faster than anything if he thinks we're arguing again. And I wasn't askin' you because I thought you'd know, jeeze. I was just talking!"

I feel sick. I'm not like those Socs that jumped Ponyboy. I never was. It was just once. It was only once. But maybe that kid had a big brother who was worried sick about him. Maybe he goes around now, scared of his own shadow. I don't know. I've never seen him again.

"And you're wrong," Soda continues. He doesn't know the things I've done. "You're not like me. Maybe you're not a Soc, but you're not really a Greaser, either."

I'm sure he doesn't mean it the way I take it. Still, the words are a slap across the face. "I am. I'm from this neighborhood, same as you."

"I know. But you're not the same. Neither is Pony. Both of you are better than this."

Better than this. I've had the same thought many times, that somehow I am better than this life, better than this neighborhood and the people in it. Deep down, I always thought I was better than my parents and my brothers, too, but that's a secret I kept even from myself. I tried too hard, kissed too much ass, did anything I could to forget who I really was. Because I was somehow _better_ and I was going to get out of here. But I don't want to be a Soc now, not when they're hunting down my friends and trying to kill my little brother.

"Things changed," I tell Soda. "Maybe I was different in high school. But I'm a Greaser now, same as you."

"It's not a bad thing, Dar," Soda says gently.

"Either shut up and rub my back, or get the hell out." My voice shakes too much to be threatening, so I hope the words do the trick all on their own.

Soda hesitates, takes his hands off of me for a moment. "Do you want to be alone?"

Yes. No. God, I don't know.

"No," I finally say. "Don't leave me."

If Soda notices the crack in my voice as I say it, he doesn't comment on it.

* * *

Who I am, who I was, and who I'll become are still on my mind the next night when I go pick up Diana. I'm wearing a suit, the one I bought for college interviews and last wore to my parents' funerals.

I'm not feeling any better. If anything, I feel worse. I spent a long sleepless night seeing my brothers face on the kid I beat the shit out of, and then a long day up on a roof thinking of all the way I could possibly lose Ponyboy. Soda too.

For so long the State taking them has been my biggest fear that I forgot how tragedy can strike with no notice and take everything I love away in the blink of an eye.

I'm remembering.

"Are you okay?" Diana asks.

She's already dressed and ready, looking beautiful in a navy blue dress that doesn't resemble at all the red one I saw yesterday. She was manipulating me, I realize. She showed me that dress and got me worked up into a jealous frenzy just so I'd do what she wanted. Getting me to take her to someplace she knows I don't want to go, a place where I don't belong. A place where I'll rub shoulders with the people who jumped my brother, or people who'd at the very least not mind that it was done.

"I'm fine." It comes out coldly. And that's how I feel looking at her. Cold.

Her face puckers. I'm making her sad. I guess I ought to feel bad about it. And somewhere inside of myself I do feel bad. But we're on different sides of something bigger than us, and right now it's hurt or be hurt.

Diana is so pretty. I wanted her so much in high school.

Anything associated with high school is tainted right now.

My brother could be _dead_ right now, for Christ's sake. Dead at the hands of Diana's country club friends.

I need out of this apartment. I need out of this suit that still stinks of funeral homes and cheap cologne.

 _I need to get away from_ her, I think, as Diana opens her mouth again.

"I can't do this," I choke out.

"Okay." She gets real close to me, puts a hand on my head like I've come down with the flu or something medicine could fix. "Darry, please. What's wrong?"

 _Are you still scared of me?_ She should be scared of me. I'm capable of hurting people. It's funny how when she gave me the list of people I've hurt since knowing her that the greaser I jumped didn't make the cut.

I guess Greasers don't count for much in Diana's world.

"I… just… can't… _do this!_ "

I'm breathing underwater. It's too warm in here. I am so closer to my breaking point it isn't funny. Miriam and Frank come out of her bedroom to stare at me.

I need to get away from them.

I need to get away from everything.

The door slams behind me before I even realize I've opened it. And then I'm practically sprinting down the stairs and into the cold night air. It fills my lungs. It clears my head.

And then I head back to the East Side. Where I belong.


	27. Chapter 27

**What's this? An update that didnt take a month to produce?**

 **Just a general warning, lots of anti-semitism in this chapter.**

* * *

The echo of the slamming door reverberates throughout my small apartment, and I stare at the door for half a second, stunned. Darry and I have a lot of issues, but he's never treated me like this. Even when he thought I cheated on him he didn't go cold and silent like he did tonight.

Tonight, he acted like he hated me.

It's Frank who breaks the general silence that follows Darry's departure. "Well, that was-"

I don't hear what he says. I dart out after Darry, hoping that I'm not too late to catch him.

I can only move so fast in the heels I'm wearing. By the time I burst out of the doors of my building, Darry already has one foot in his truck. He doesn't notice me.

For a brief moment I think seriously about throwing a rock at him, just to see if anything can penetrate that thick skull of his. It's a bad idea. I settle for raising my voice.

"Darry!"

He hesitates. For a second I think he'll just ignore me and drive off. I see him consider it, but then he freezes. He just freezes, one foot still in the car.

I'm out of breath by the time I reach him. "What was that about?" My panting takes some of the heat out of my words. "What do you think you're doing, treating me like this?"

He glances over his shoulder at me. "Go back inside, Diana."

"You don't tell me what to do." I run my hands over my arms, already prickling with gooseflesh. I _really_ wish I'd thought to grab a coat. "You're acting like a jerk, and I want to know why."

"You're gonna freeze to death out here," he snaps, and for the first time all evening his face loses that stony, hard look as he pulls himself out of his truck and faces me. "Just go back inside."

"No."

"Diana-"

" _No_."

He looks me over, jaw clenched tight. Surprisingly, he gives in first. "My kid brother was jumped yesterday."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

His face twists into something unpleasant. "Are you really?"

"Of course I am! Why wouldn't I be?"

"Don't pretend, Diana. You don't get it. You don't understand-"

"Well, I don't understand why you're acting like this, that's for sure," I snap, but then I feel badly about it. His brothers are so important to him. I know that. I take a deep breath. "Darry, of course it bothers me that a fourteen year old kid was jumped. Why wouldn't it?"

His cold facade cracks just a little, and I catch a hint of anguish in his eyes. He runs a hand through his hair. "They were gonna kill him. They had a knife."

"I'm sorry."

His shoulders heave. "You don't get it."

"Then why don't you explain it to me?" He shakes his head, a little frantically, I think, and I make myself speak softly when I say, "Darry, I am not the enemy."

"You might as well be," he says bitterly. "That's where your loyalties are."

"My loyalties? What are you talking about?"

"All of your friends-"

"Name one person I'm friends with that wasn't also in _your_ social circle."

He flinches. And that's when I realize that he isn't rejecting me, he's rejecting himself.

"I get why you don't want to come with me tonight." I shiver again, wrapping my arms around myself. "I understand-"

"You don't understand _anything_. Do you know what it's like to be hated like we are? D'you know what it's like for people to judge you for something you can't control before they even get to know you?"

"Of course not," I say, unable to control my sarcasm. "We Jews are universally loved and admired wherever we go. You're kidding, right? I might not be a Greaser, but being hated and judged? I understand _that_ perfectly."

He shakes his head. "It's not the same-"

"You mean your little tit-for-tat with the boys from the other side of town isn't the same as a widespread prejudice held by thousands of people across the country? Oh, I know, but I'm trying to be nice to you so I wasn't going to mention it." He opens his mouth to argue, so I say quickly, "Darry, give me a break. You can go to any other town in America and no one is going to know about Socs and Greasers. Heck, get a little money and they'll probably welcome you with open arms anywhere in Tulsa. But I'm _always_ going to be Jewish."

"Yeah? When's the last time you got jumped?"

"Never," I counter. "I'm a girl. We have other ways of hurting each other."

"We don't belong together," he says harshly.

"Why not? We're both outsiders, aren't we? Both desperately trying to pretend to be something we're not so we can fit even though we know deep down we'll never be accepted?"

I don't know if it's pride or stubbornness that won't let him admit that maybe I do understand. Maybe neither one, I decide. He doesn't want to be understood right now, he wants to be angry. He wants to go around with a chip on his shoulder, blaming every person he comes across, but himself most of all.

"You're full of shit." The words fall from my mouth before I can stop them.

Darry stops looking angry long enough to look a little shocked. "Excuse me?"

I cross my arms. "You heard me. You always assume the worst of me. You never bother with actually communicating. You just leap to a conclusion and then react to that, never mind what's actually happening."

"I do not-"

"You do." I pull myself up to my full height. He isn't the only one who can look angry and stony faced. "Pull your head out of your ass. You aren't the only one with problems, Darrel."

He looks absolutely stunned, and I don't know if it's the message or the delivery that got to him. Girls, _nice_ girls, don't swear. But they don't have sex on couches, drop out of college, or move out of their parent's house either.

I am not a nice girl anymore.

"I love you," Darry chokes out. "I love you more than any other girl I've ever _seen_. But it's not enough, Diana. Do you get that? It's not enough."

"Let me stay with you tonight." It kills me to see him so upset. He won't reach out, won't acknowledge the pain. Of course it's too much for any one person. Of course it is. "I'm not even allowed to go to Southern Hills, not really."

I can see him thinking about it. I start to hope that maybe the things I said about not fitting in, about both of us being outsiders, have sunk in. But then his mouth drops to a firm, hard line, and I know that, to him, I am still Other.

He clenches his hands up into fists and shoves then into his pockets. "I need to be alone"

"That's your problem. You're always alone."

"Your country club is waiting."

I don't want to leave him. But how do you help someone who refuses to be helped? How can you be there for someone who keeps pushing you away?

You don't. You can't.

When I walk away, I want him to stop me. He doesn't, of course. I feel strangely empty. Is this it? Is this the end?

He waits until he sees that I've made it back into my building before he drives away. I want it to mean something, but I think I'm just fooling myself.

* * *

No Jews or dogs.

There's no actual sign outside Southern Hills that explicitly states this, but I feel it all the same. Money matters here: Heritage matters more.

The first time I realized that I was different from other people I was six and it was late December. One of the boys in my first grade class asked me why I'd killed Jesus, as if as a Jew I was somehow _personally_ responsible. I don't even remember that boys name, but what I do remember is the awful way it made me feel. All sick inside, like that time I rode the tilt-a-whirl too many times and got motion sick. Only this wasn't a carnival, this was life, and there was no getting off.

After that, I only had to look around to be reminded of my differences. Dark hair, dark eyes, and skin a shade of olive so obvious that by the time I was twelve I referred to myself mentally as the Jolly Green Giant.

Looking around Southern Hills, I feel like that again. I don't belong here anymore than Darry does. I _don't_. Maybe he's willing to consign me to this crowd, but they'll never claim me for themselves.

A wave of nausea hits me. Darry and I don't belong together, maybe it's past time for me to accept that. We've tried to make it fit, but it's like two puzzle pieces that just don't go together no matter how much you try to force it.

Love, he said, isn't enough.

Like the universe is providing me proof of this statement, there's Paul leaning up against one of Southern Hills' columns. I loved him, he loved me, but it wasn't enough to stop him from screwing everything in sight.

He looks downright shocked to see me, standing up and uncrossing his arms immediately. "Diana, what are you doing here?"

I snort. "What, worries your precious country club is going downhill? Gonna complain to management about too many Jews being let in?"

"Nah, I knew the standards here were shit when they let my dad join." He leans back against the column, studying me. "To tell the truth they probably would have turned us away, but my new mommy has a lot of influence, so here we are."

"Lucy's having her engagement party tonight," I confess.

"Again?"

"Teddy this time. They're not really accepting Jews."

Paul shrugs, like it doesn't matter to him. It probably doesn't. Paul has lots of faults but prejudice isn't really one of them.

His gaze flicks to someone behind me, and he stands up a little straighter. I turn around, unsurprised to see a young woman approaching us. Of course Paul is on a date. I don't know why I expected otherwise.

She's really pretty. Clear skin, auburn hair, little upturned nose with just a sprinkling of freckles. And she's so tiny!

Maybe I shouldn't have worn heels tonight.

"Paul, who's this?" She asks. She has to look up at Paul, and I've never felt more like the jolly green giant.

Paul doesn't answer for a second. "Diana. We used to date."

It's a strange statement to make to your new girl, I think. But she seems unphased by it. She goes quiet and I recognize the look of someone desperately trying to think of something to say.

"I didn't catch your name," I say, hoping I sound friendly enough and not like I've just analyzed every limb of her body to see how I measure up.

"Jennie. It's Jennie."

"You look so familiar," I continue. "Do you go-" Paul gives a sharp shake of his head, and I change what I'm about to say. "I mean, do you _know_ my dad by chance? He's the city prosecutor. Jonathan Hayes?"

Jennie shakes her head. "No. I don't."

Paul leans back against the column, looking decidedly unhappy now. _What is going on_? I want to ask. Surely it can't bother him that much that I'm talking to-

Jennie raises her left hand to brush a strand of hair out of her eyes, and that's when I see the ring on her finger.

This isn't Paul's girlfriend, I realize with a horrifying start. This is his stepmother.

At the last minute I manage to turn an awkward laugh into a cough. So this, then, is why Mrs. Holden, the _first_ Mrs. Holden, was forced from her house. So her husband could get it on with someone who can only be a couple of years older than me. It's disgusting. It's absolutely disgusting.

I wonder if Paul has ever read _The Carpetbaggers._

Paul stares angrily at the ground, and even though I'm still so angry at him for everything, I can't help but pity him.

Mr. Holden comes slowly up the walk. He cringes a little when he sees me, but he greets me anyway. "Dana."

"Diana," I correct. What the hell, I figure. I'm not dating Paul anymore. I don't have to kowtow to this jerk's general nonsense. "My name is Diana, just like it has been for the last several years."

He grunts like he doesn't care, and turns adoring eyes to his child bride. "Are you ready to go in, darling?"

Jennie nods. I wonder what it's like, being married to someone old enough to be your father. Does she love him? If not, does the money make it worth it?

"Paul, let's go." His tone is much less adoring with his son.

"In a minute."

" _Now._ "

Paul slumps against the column, mouth set in a firm line. "No."

Mr. Holden turns angry, hate filled eyes on me. It's unfair, really. I haven't done a thing. But he takes Jennie by the hand and the two go into Southern Hills.

This is the kind of thing they tolerate here. Lying. Adultery. Whatever it's called when you keep your mentally unstable wife locked up for years, only to dispose of her the moment someone new catches your eye- Rochester-ing, maybe? Who know what else they turn a blind eye to, so long as those committing it are the right sort of people.

It makes me sick, and not just the kind of sick I get from being nervous. I won't be a party to this.

This is not the kind of place I want to be.

"Hey! Where are you going?" It's Paul, of course, jogging to catch up to me. "I thought you were going to a party."

"I've changed my mind. Lucy invited me here because she either forgot I was Jewish or didn't care that I wasn't allowed to be here, and I don't know what's worse." I shake my head. "I'm done with this city. I'm done with Tulsa and everyone inside of it."

"Even me?"

" _Especially_ you."

"Let's get out of here."

I stop and stare at him, gaping open mouthed. "Paul Hunter Holden, did you not just hear what I said?"

"Diana, I've cheated on you. I've lied to you and about you. I've taken advantage of your good nature more times than I can count. Be honest. Is there any other way left in which I could _possibly_ disappoint you? Hanging out with me is probably the safest thing there is. The only way left that I can surprise you is by being a decent human being."

"You make a curious case for yourself."

"At least I'm honest."

"For once." I pause. "Did you tell Cal I was a trashy slut?"

"Yes."

"Are you spending time with me because you want to spend time with me, or because leaving Southern Hills with a Jew is the surest way of pissing off your dad?"

"A bit of both, actually."

I think about it. I'm done pleasing everyone. What do I want to do? What would make me happy _right this second_?

"Let's go."

* * *

"So," Paula asks, handing me the bag of red liquorice we bought when we stopped at the gas station a couple of miles ago. "Are you here because it pisses off Curtis, or are you genuinely craving my company?"

I lie back on the blanket we spread out and stare up at the stars. There's so many. You almost forget how vast the universe is when you live in Tulsa. "Neither," I finally decide. "I'm here because I'm sick to death of everyone I know, including you. But, like you said, I can't possibly be more disappointed in you than I already am. And, too, you already think I'm a trashy slut. I cheated on you. I slept with your best friend. There are no expectations for me to disappoint."

"Fantastic. Low expectations all around. I love it. Are you going to eat all of those red vines?"

"Yes. Surprised?"

"Not really. You've always been greedy with the red vines."

"It's my one flaw."

"Well, I don't know about one-"

"Shut up," I order. "How'd your dad meet Jennie anyway? Summer camp?"

"Dunno." His voice gets tight. "It's disgusting. Absolutely disgusting."

"No disagreement here."

"She's not so bad, I guess. She's nice. But my dad… he's awful. He walks around looking so smug, and I think of my mom down in Oklahoma City all by herself… I don't know. I could kill him. I could just _kill him_."

He lies back, stares up at the sky in silence.

"Have you been to see her?"

"Once." He doesn't elaborate.

For once in my life, I don't pry. "I moved out," I offer, changing the subject.

"Oh yeah?" Paul sounds surprised, but then he makes a face. "I knew that already. Cal told me. He had it from Lucy."

"So you know who I'm living with then?"

"Yeah. You've got guts, I'll give you that."

"She's not so bad."

"Nah, she never was."

We're silent again, studying the constellations.

"I've heard in some places you can actually see the Milky Way." The stars twinkle down at us. "The whole galaxy, visible to the naked eye."

Paul chuckles. "Wouldn't that be something."

I pass him the red vines. I feel small and insignificant beneath the night sky, and it's a reassuring feeling. It's hard to remember that Tulsa isn't the center of the world, that what happens today doesn't necessarily reflect what will happen tomorrow. Anything could happen for us. Anything at all. Lying there underneath the stars, I wonder if Paul feels it too.

* * *

I don't know how long we lay there next to each other under the stars. There's no kissing or anything like that: Paul doesn't even make his usual inappropriate comments. There's hardly any talking at all, except when Paul points out a constellation, or I ask about the myth behind some strange name I don't recognize.

"What time is it?" I ask Paul in a sudden burst of consciousness that might indicate I've been asleep.

He yawns, checks his watch. "It's two in the morning."

"Oh, that's late." A few months ago the mention of the time would have caused me to become almost hysterical. Now I live on my own and it's Paul who reluctantly sits up.

"Guess we'd better head on back. You cold? You want my jacket?"

"How about your pants?" I look down at my legs, still clad in tights. "Maybe I'll take up wearing pants."

"Scandalous." Paul yawns. "You ready to go back?"

I'm not. I wish I could stay here forever.

But I already know I can't.

* * *

"So are you still seeing Darrel?"

Paul waits till we're back within the city limits of Tulsa before he asks me. He doesn't have anything to lose now, I think.

I shrug. "It's complicated."

"I'm sorry."

"In all honesty, you didn't have much to do with it," I admit. I exhale. I don't have anything left to lose now either. "Paul, why did you lie like that? I mean, why tell him that I was scared of him? Why tell him we slept together? What was your plan?"

"Um, I didn't really have one, I guess." He keeps his eyes on the road. "I swiped his ring off your dresser because I couldn't stand the thought of him thinking he owned you, and then the rest was just sort of a shot in the dark. I wanted you to see him for who he really is."

"Oh, a Greaser? Do you think that matters to me-"

"No, not just a Greaser. He's got a temper and a violent streak-"

"He's never hit anybody who hasn't deserved it!"

"Hasn't he?"

"He was just a kid back then." I won't let Paul be right about this.

"Maybe you're right," Paul allows. "But he'd go to any lengths to fit in with his friends back then, and now that the people he's trying to fit in with are practically criminals, where does that leave you?"

I stare out the window as the empty countryside begins to bleed into the city I've lived in for as long as I can remember. Has it always been Greasers against Socs? I can't remember it any other way."

"Can I give you some advice? Not as your ex, or a guy who's kind of still in love with you, but just someone who wants you to be happy?"

"What?" I ask dully.

"Leave. You don't belong here-"

"I keep hearing that."

"I don't mean it like that," Paul protests. "Not in a Southern Hills kind of way."

"Fine. How do you mean it?"

"Me, Darry… hell, even Lucy and Henry… we're never going to leave you alone. You've got something we all want."

"Sex?"

"No. _Normalcy_. Happiness. I'm broken. Darry's broken. I don't know about the Abernathy's, but I'm willing to bet they're a study in dysfunction. We're all drowning in the ocean, clinging to you like you're the last life preserver. We're trying to use you to stay afloat in the messes of our own lives, but I think instead of you saving us, we're just dragging you down with us."

"That's ridiculous," I say flatly. "For one thing, I'm not very happy-"

"You used to be." He glances over at me. "You really used to be. And then I took pieces of you, and Darry took pieces of you, and God knows who else took pieces of you-"

"I haven't slept with anyone else!"

"It's not about sex!" Paul's voice rises. "It's about us using you as the glue to hold our broken pieces together, only in the process we're destroying you!"

"So you think I should leave?"

Paul nods, rather emphatically. "I think you should leave. The sooner the better. And I don't think you should ever look back."

* * *

He drops me off in front of my building, and I wish I weren't so suddenly conscious of the way it looks kind of shabby from the outside. I wish, too, that I weren't so conscious of the fact that he didn't need directions.

He offers to walk me up, but we both inexplicably pause near the entrance. Maybe he doesn't want to see Miriam. For my part, despite having spent all night with him, having him inside my residence is having him entirely too close.

"Thanks for tonight," I say, meaning it. "It wasn't completely horrible."

"Well, that's what I'm here for, right? For all the times you need to have a mediocre evening that's not completely horrible."

I bite my lip. "About what you said earlier… I don't know if I want to leave Tulsa."

"Well, babe, selfishly I don't want you to leave, either." His blue eyes are earnest. "But I think you'd be happier if you did."

There's a moment, just a split second, really, where I think _I could kiss him_. I tilt my head, and I think maybe he leans in just a hair. But then sirens explode into wails all around us as what sounds like half of Tulsa's first responders suddenly burst into action.

"Big happenings on the East Side tonight. Hope Darrel didn't cave to peer pressure and throw over a liquor store," Paul jokes.

"Not funny."

He kicks a rock, sending it flying into the distance. Somewhere a train whistle blows. "I know. Maybe I'll see you around sometime."

"Paul-"

"Don't ruin the moment, babe." He gives me his stupid, crooked grin. "Just think about what I said, okay?"

He walks away. I go upstairs.

Leave Tulsa? Paul must be crazy. But even as I dismiss the thought, I feel the butterflies dance in my stomach. It would be different. It would be daring. It would change everything.

No more Greasers to worry about, no more Socs… no more struggling to figure out where I fit in in the social fabric. I fall asleep, imagining what kind of world that would be.

* * *

I'd like nothing more than to sleep in the next morning, but I swear the sun is barely up before Miriam is pounding on my door.

I sink down under the covers. _Maybe_ , I think, _if I just ignore her she'll go away._ After all, what can be so urgent at this time of day?

The pounding doesn't stop. "Oh, God, what now?"

Miriam throws open my door with a bang. "Get some clothes on. You need to come see this."

Bewildered, I do as she asks. Miriam and I aren't exactly enemies anymore, but we're not exactly friends, either. It's completely unlike her to barge into my room and order me into getting dressed.

"Have you seen your car?" Frank asks bluntly, when I poke my head out. When I shake my head, he looks away. "Meer is in the parking lot. You should go down and see her."

"What's going on?" I ask. "What's wrong?"

Frank looks away.

Dread unfurls itself like a flag in my belly.

I find Miriam by my car. There are a couple of other people milling about, too, and I wonder what is so urgent that people have gathered in the parking lot to look at the car I bought secondhand from the classifieds.

It takes me a second to see it, to really understand what I'm looking at. But when I do… I suck in my breath, feeling like someone has socked me in the stomach.

My car, my little car, has been _attacked_. My tires are flat, slashed by a knife that still sticks out of the left hand rear tire. The windows have been broken. Glass litters the ground.

I circle the car, hands pressed to my mouth. The worst part waits for me on the driver's side door: Etched into my bright, yellow paint (and probably forever into my brain) is a cross with four curved arms. A swastika. I've never seen one in real life. I trace over it with my finger.

Someone has carved a swastika into my car.

"Who-" I don't finish the thought. I don't really want to know who. The attack is too personal. I don't want to know who hates me that much.

"Diana." It's Miriam again. She touches my shoulder. "Have you heard-"

"Heard _what?_ "

Her hand shakes. "It's just, you were out so late. I didn't know if maybe you already knew…"

"Know what?"

Frank comes out, puts an arm around Miriam. "One of those rich kids, what do you call them?"

"Socs." I don't want to hear what he's going to say. I don't want to know whatever he's going to tell me.

"One of the Soc kids was murdered over on the East Side last night."

That explains the rush of sirens we heard last night. "But what does that have to do with me? What does that have to do with any of this?"

Frank can't quite get it out. It's Miriam who tentatively embraces me, Miriam who whispers urgently, "oh, honey, they're saying it was Darry's brother who did it."

I laugh. Darry made a big point of me not being a Greaser, of me being a Soc. And yet… and yet… someone vandalized my car because I'm so indelibly associated with Darry now that I can be targeted in his place.

I laugh.

I laugh.

And then I collapse against Miriam's shoulder and cry.


	28. Chapter 28

It's surreal, the feeling of Ponyboy's flesh under the palm of my hand, and I think the slap is as much of a surprise to me as it is to him.

For a fraction of a second, time stands still. _What did I do?_ I ask myself, already beginning to panic. _What have I done?_

"I didn't mean to," I babble, almost hysterical with remorse. "Pony, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

It's too late, though.

My little brother is already gone.

* * *

It's the punch to my face that brings me back to reality.

Soda's first connects with my face in a sudden hit that I don't see coming. There's no time to duck, no time to dodge it.

I'm not sure I would, even if I could. I deserve it, after all, and the ache in my jaw acts almost like a cold bucket of water. It brings me out of my panic induced hysteria and makes me focus.

It makes me angry.

"What the _fuck,_ Soda? What the fuck?"

"You… you asshole!" Soda sputters, rage making him nearly incoherent. "How could you? He's just a kid! And you… you…"

He makes like he's going to hit me again, but this time I'm not having it. "Knock it off," I order. Guilt and uneasiness make me more forceful than usual. I was wrong, I was _so_ wrong, but Soda's not gonna stand there and lecture me when he doesn't have a clue. Not when the kid hangs onto his every word like he's the second coming of Christ.

"I'm going to look for him." Soda hates me, he downright despises me. I can see it in his eyes.

"No, you're not." That's all I need, _two_ idiot brothers running around Tulsa at this time of night. "He'll come back when he's done acting like a child."

"He _is_ a child!" Soda protests. "And you hit him-"

"I didn't do anything wrong!" I did. God help me, I know I did, but I can't admit that to Soda. Not now. "He'll come back. Now plant your ass back down on that couch, Sodapop, 'cause you ain't goin' nowhere."

"You can't tell me what to do!" It's the constant refrain from our childhood, the struggle between two siblings too close in age and too hard headed to get along. Except now, I am the boss of him and I've got the papers to prove it.

"Yes," I remind him, unable to help the hint of smugness hat creeps into my voice. I've won this argument now in perpetuity. "I am."

Red-faced and pissed as hell, I think maybe he'll walk right out the door just to spite me. But he doesn't move. Neither do I. We could fight. We could yell. We could retreat to our separate bedrooms, an option now though it wasn't when we were kids.

I don't know.

Neither does he.

It's me who breaks first. Sort of. "If you're not here when he comes back, he might leave again."

It's an out, an offer to let him keep his pride and listen to me at the same time. It might even be true.

Soda sits.

I sit.

We don't talk.

And that's how we are when the sun comes up and the first police car pulls up in front of our house.

* * *

"Murder?" Horror fills Two-Bit's voice. Even he can't find anything funny about this situation. "How the hell do Johnny and Pony, of all people, end up accused of _murder?_ "

"Ask him," Soda answers dully, and even though I can't see him, I know he's pointing at me. "Go on, Darry, tell him."

I don't, I _can't_ , answer. Head in my hands, collapsed into the same armchair I waited for Ponyboy in, I can't even look at them.

In one careless moment I've ruined everything I've worked so hard for. Every sacrifice I've made, every effort I've put forth… it's all in ashes. I've ruined it all.

My parents would be so disappointed in me.

The thought makes me groan out loud.

Two-Bit thinks the groan is directed at Soda, and so he hurries to diffuse the tension. "I'm sure this isn't Darry's fault. Sheldon's girlfriend is the girl Pony was tryin' to pick up at the movies last night-"

"What?" That gets my attention, and for a second I forget to hate myself. "What do you mean-"

"Pony tried to pick up a girl? A _real_ one?" Soda is as shocked as I am.

"When I got there, he and Johnny were sittin' with these two cheerleaders. Dally'd made an ass of himself, as usual, so he'd taken off. Anyway, the redhead, Cherry, she took a real liking to your baby brother."

"Ponyboy? Are you sure? I thought he was scared of girls."

"Yeah, Two-Bit, come on," Soda ventures to say. "Ponyboy was talking to a girl? A _Soc_?"

Two-Bit shrugs. "Guess he's got a taste for hot cheerleaders. Seems to run in the family."

Soda snorts. "Not _this_ part of the family."

"Anyway," Two-Bit continues. "They didn't have a way home, so we were gonna find my truck and give 'em a ride home, but their boyfriends pulled up before we could get there and, well, the girls went with them."

"So Bob Sheldon and his friends went hunting for Pony, then?" It seems ridiculous, all this over a girl. Sure, Paul and I have come to blows over Diana, but good God even we have limits.

"Guess so. He'd been drinking. They all had." Two-Bit frowns. "You know, Bob Sheldon drove a blue mustang. Wore a lot of rings."

I don't get it, not till Soda curses softly. And then I remember the beating Johnny took over the summer, the way those Socs had reduced his face to an almost unrecognizable mass of blood and flesh. It seems strange that I'd forget something like that, but I feel like I've lived a million years since we found him in the lot.

I didn't even know Bob Sheldon. I wish Dally were here so I could point that out.

* * *

There's nothing left to do then but wait. For what, I don't know. It's the worst thing, this not knowing where my brother is. I don't go to work, choosing instead to hover by the phone all day. The police could call. The hospital could call. Pony or Johnny could call.

It's the reporters who call, wanting the scoop as the news of Bob Sheldon's murder spreads.

"Hi, this is Jack Raymond with the Tulsa World-"

My heart pounds, and I hang up the phone as quickly as I've picked it up.

"Who was that?" Soda asks. Like me, he's going crazy not knowing what to do.

"A reporter." The phone rings again, but this time I don't rush to pick it up. Soda can't help himself. "Don't tell them anything," I order. God, anything we say now could come back to bite us if, no, _when_ , we find Ponyboy.

Soda rolls his eyes at me. "It's Diana." He goes to hand the phone to me, and I'm stretching out my hand to take it from him, when he pulls it back. "Oh. Oh. Okay. Sure. I'll tell him." And he hangs up.

I blink. "I would have talked to _her_."

"She said she didn't want to tie up the phone line," Soda says uneasily, knowing as well as I do that it's a lie. She just didn't want to talk to me. "She just wants you to know that she's stayin' with her parents for a bit, and that she's assuming Sunday's cancelled."

Sunday… In better times I promised her that she could come over and cook for us. I told her I'd introduce her to my brothers. But now everything has been turned upside down, and all I'm left with is the uncomfortable feeling that I should have seen this coming all along.

* * *

"We're going to go look for him," Soda says a little while later.

"What? You think he and Johnny are holed up at the DX? You think maybe they're hidin' in the back room down at the Dingo?"

Soda sneers. "If you got any better ideas, hotshot, let's hear 'em."

I don't. That's the problem. I'm tucked into the armchair twiddling my thumbs, waiting. Soda can't do that. He's got to be moving, got to be doing something. He never could sit still.

"Carry a blade with you," I say flatly.

I don't need to explain why. It doesn't take a genius to know that some people aren't going to be happy about some East Side kids murdering a Soc. It doesn't take a genius to guess that some people might be looking for revenge. Soda goes to find a switchblade.

"You can't seriously think you'll find them," I venture to say to Steve when Soda leaves the room. Steve might be Soda's best buddy, but he's not stupid. "If Johnny's got a lick of sense, he took Pony and left Tulsa as soon as they could."

Steve shrugs. He hasn't looked at me since he got here. I can't blame him. Everyone knows his dad beats on him. I lick my lips, studying the fraying threads of the armchair. I've let everyone down. I hit my brother and there's no taking it back.

I wish I could. I wish to God I could.

Steve finally clears his throat, saying as gently as he can manage, "it might be better if we don't find him."

The reality of that sentence hits me like a ton of bricks. Johnny's a murderer, Ponyboy an accessory. Even if we _could_ bring them back, what would we be bringing them back to?

I shouldn't have hit him. None of this would be happening if I hadn't hit him.

Steve's eyes finally meet mine. "Has Dally been around yet?"

"No. No, he hasn't." Now that Steve mentions it, I haven't heard from Dally today at all. The whole gang's been over, but Dally has been nowhere to be found.

Steve's eyes finally meet mine, and I know we're thinking the same thing. "Johnny and Pony murder a kid in a park, and Dallas Winston is nowhere to be found. Kind of funny, don't you think?"

* * *

When they leave, I'm completely alone.

It's funny; this is what I thought I wanted, time to think, no little brothers constantly bugging me, no girlfriend nagging me about _feelings_ … but now that I've got it I'd give anything to go back.

I stand up, pacing the small living room. Like Soda, I want to go out and do something. I'm too realistic to think I'll find Johnny and Pony hiding out somewhere close by, but I could head on over to the West Side, start bashing in heads until I find out exactly what they did to my little brother and Johnny that made Johnny feel he had no choice but to stab somebody.

There's no way Johnny would have done that unless he felt he had no choice. There's absolutely no way.

"Murder." I say the word out loud, and it echoes through the small house.

Johnny could be charged with murder. Shit, he probably will be. Even if it was self defense, no one's going to care. No one is going to take the side of two East Side kids against Bob Sheldon's wealthy, grieving parents.

And Ponyboy… even if somehow he manages to avoid being charged with murder, they're going to take him away from me. Bile fills my throat. Only now, when I'm losing it, do I realize how much I should have valued having custody of my younger brothers.

A soft knock on the door takes me away from the thoughts in my head. There's a split second where I think _Diana_ , and I almost break the door down trying to swing it open.

It's not Diana.

I swallow the bitter taste of my disappointment and try to smile at the terrified looking blonde staring up at me. I try, but all I can manage is to maybe look a little less miserable. "Sandy, right?"

She nods, slowly. "Is Soda here?"

"No." I'm trying so hard not to stare at her stomach that it takes me a second to notice the bruises that run up and down her arms. Someone roughed this girl up. Soda's going to flip when he sees her, I know that much. "Are you okay?"

Sandy nods. She wraps her arms around herself, but if she's trying to hide the bruises it doesn't really work. "I just need Soda."

"He's not here, but if you wanna stay and wait for him-"

Sandy shakes her head frantically. I don't know what Soda's told her about me, but she looks like she'd rather be anywhere else but here. _I wish Diana were here_. I've been wishing for her all day, but for the first time it's maybe not so selfish. She'd know what to say to Sandy. She'd know how to get the girl to stay, to open up. Diana's good with people.

Me? Not so much.

"I'll tell Soda you stopped by." I say, trying my best to sound friendly. I'm sure I'm botching it because Sandy doesn't look anything but scared.

She manages a quick "thank you" before she flees in absolute terror.

I slam the door shut, irritated. What the hell could Soda have said to his girlfriend for her to have that kind of a reaction? You'd think I was some kind of dangerous animal the way people have been treating me lately. It's annoying. It's ridiculous. It's…

If I'm being honest… it's completely justifiable.

 _I hit my brother_.

All the righteous anger goes out of me then, and I lean against the door trying not to bawl. "I didn't mean to," I whisper out loud. "I didn't mean to do it."

The weight of everything comes crashing down on me, and I can't stand it anymore. I can't _stand_ anymore. I slide down to the floor, head in hands.

"What do I do now?" I plead. "I can't do this on my own. I don't know what to do."

I listen.

Silence.

I don't know what I was expecting. The ghost of my dead parents to guide me from beyond? Ponyboy to pop out of the attic and insist that it's all a joke? I feel so stupid, sitting here on the floor talking to myself.

It takes me a few seconds, but I get to my feet. If there's no one else to help me figure this out, I'll have to do it myself.

* * *

Soda and Steve return around sunset, empty handed as expected, but full of news.

"It's absolute war out there," Soda breathes, trying and failing not to sound excited. "Some kid from Shepard's outfit got jumped by a group of Socs. If we hadn't come along they probably would have killed him. They say it's that way all over town."

I shrug. I expected as much. They wouldn't leave us alone before, I didn't think they'd have a change of heart now that they have an actual grievance.

"Dally got hauled in for the murder," Steve says, and this interests me slightly more. "The cops seem to think he might have had somethin' to do with it."

That doesn't surprise me either. They haul Dally in for everything that goes wrong in this town. They stop just short of blaming him for natural disasters and outbreaks of infectious diseases. I say as much out loud. Soda laughs, but Steve looks thoughtful.

"If you had to go to someone for help, wouldn't you ask Dally?" Steve asks.

I snort. "Not me, no." If my options were going to Dally for help or turning myself in, I'd probably pick the latter. "And Ponyboy's scared of Dally."

"Johnny isn't."

I turn the thought over in my head before shaking my head. "I think Johnny would have enough sense not to involve anyone else."

"Besides," Soda throws in. "If Dally has any idea where Pony was, I'm sure he'd have told us. He knows we'd be worried sick. He wouldn't do that to us."

Steve shrugs and the conversation ends, but I can tell he isn't convinced.

And when I really start to think about it, neither am I.

* * *

"Sandy was here. She was lookin' for you," I tell Soda, after Steve leaves. I hesitate, unsure of how to tell him the next part. Finally I just decide to blurt it all out at once. "It looked like someone had hurt her. I know she's knocked up, but-"

"Who told you that?" Soda screws up his face. "Listen, Dar, I was gonna tell you, honest, but then all of this happened and-"

I hold up my hand. I'm too exhausted to give a shit about his excuses right now."What are you gonna do?"

"Marry her. What else? It's her stepdad who slaps her around. She must've come clean to them about the baby." Soda frowns. "I thought we were gonna tell them together."

"She's fifteen. You're sixteen-"

"I'll be seventeen soon!"

"You are sixteen, Soda. D'you really think marriage is the right move here?"

Soda, who's been sitting on the couch since Steve left, suddenly hops up. "I love her. And this kid is mine, Darry. What am I supposed to do, huh?"

"Where are you two gonna live? Have you thought of that, genius? How do you plan to support a wife and baby?"

"I've got a job. I can pick up more hours." His lower lip pokes out, just like it did when we were kids and he was being stubborn. "And I thought we could move into Mom and Dad's old room-"

"Soda, we are barely making it as it is. How do you expect us to add two more mouths to feed? And do you even know the first thing about takin' care of babies? Do you?"

Soda ignores the question. "What am I supposed to do then? What do I do? 'Cause I can't go back in time and undo this, Darry. I _can't_."

The truth in his statement and, if I'm honest, the similarity in our situations, doesn't escape me. And when I say "It never should have even happened in the first place" I don't know if I'm talking more to him or to me.

"Yeah, well…" Soda trails off, face red. "Maybe if someone weren't using up all the condoms-"

"Jesus, Soda! You have a job, as you were so quick to point it. Buy your own!"

"It… it feels better-"

"Well you're gonna be a daddy now, how does that fucking feel?" I stop, take a deep breath. "Soda, they're gonna take Pony from us. You know that, right? And they're likely to take you, too."

"They might not! And they won't want me. I'm seventeen-"

"-sixteen-"

"I'm too old for them to worry about. Besides, they'll let us keep Pony. I'm sure of it. It's not like _he_ stabbed someone, is it?"

His naïveté catches me off guard. _Is he serious?_ I wonder for a second. I want to correct him, to make him realize the gravity of the situation we're both in, but at the last minute I can't. I just can't.

"Right," I say, agreeing. "Right."

It's not a lie. I'm simply agreeing that Pony didn't stab anyone. And he didn't. But Soda thinks I'm agreeing to the whole thing, that the State won't take Ponyboy, that Ponyboy won't be in any trouble. He visibly relaxes, and tries to smile.

"You're sorry, aren't you? For hitting him?"

"Of course I am." I don't have to split hairs about this one. "Soda, you don't know. I regret it so much. I wish… I wish…"

"I know." Soda has to look away for a second, and when he looks back his eyes are still shiny and wet with unshed tears. "We'll find him. We have to."

"Yeah."

"And I'm going to marry Sandy, Darry." He gives a little laugh. "I don't really have a choice here. Besides, I love her. There's no reason to wait, I guess."

I shrug. He's right. He doesn't really have a choice. When you get right down to it, I've been a piss poor guardian to both my kid brothers and now we're all suffering for it.

"I'm gonna go see her." Soda's eyes flash dangerously. "Her stepdad-"

"Don't do anything stupid," I warn. "Really, Soda. We don't need anymore trouble."

"I won't. Promise."

I manage to wait until Soda disappears before pulling the bottle of cheap liquor down from the top of the fridge. I thought I was better than my dad. I really did. But not even he fucked up this badly.

I don't bother pouring myself a glass. Tonight I'm drinking straight from the bottle.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: A very heartfelt thank you to anyone who is still reading this. I hope you enjoy this latest chapter.**

* * *

My dad looks my car over, running his hands over the swastika just the same as I did. "You have absolutely no idea who would do this?"

"I already told you I didn't!" I look around the parking lot in vain for someone else who can explain all this to my dad, but we're all alone. "It's like I told the police, Daddy. I have no idea who would do this."

"Alright, well let's start at the beginning." My dad is more thorough than the lone police officer sent out to take my statement, the one who made to clear to me that they had a murderer to catch and couldn't spare any time for what was likely a teenage prank. "What did you do last night?"

"I went to Lucy and Teddy's engagement party."

"Where?"

"Southern Hills."

My dad sighs, exasperated. "And you didn't think that would be worth mentioning?"

"This doesn't have anything to do with Southern Hills! I didn't even go inside." I can't quite meet my father's gaze, although I do answer his unasked question. "I got cold feet."

My father stretches out his arm like he's going to put it around me, but in the end he just lets it fall. "I'm sorry," he says quietly.

I shrug. What is there to say? "Miriam thinks it's related to what happened on the East Side last night."

"And what do you think?"

"I don't know." I study the yellow car I was so proud of, now probably damaged beyond repair. "It's not fair."

Instead of chastising me for being overly dramatic, my father puts a tentative hand on my shoulder. "You're right," he says quietly. "It isn't."

* * *

I could say it's because I no longer have a way to get to work, or I could say that it's a way to save money, but the real reason I let my dad take me home without putting up a fight is because I'm simply scared. No, scratch that, I'm _terrified_. I'm craving the safety of my childhood home. I crave the certainty of knowing my dad always checks the locks on the doors and windows before going to bed. I want to be surrounded by nosy neighbors all too ready to interfere in things that aren't their business. I want that. I _need_ that now.

 _I'm coming back_ , I promise myself as I close the door of the apartment I was so happy to move into. My brief play for independence isn't over.

But even as I reassure myself that I'm not saying goodbye to this new life I've made, there's a part of me that can't help but feel I'm leaving it behind forever.

* * *

"What happened?" Paul asks me, concern filling his blue eyes.

He was waiting for me on my porch when I got home with my dad. My dad passes right by him, giving him nothing but a glare, but I stop. I chew my lip. I didn't know he and Miriam still talked.

"Frank told me," Paul says, like he's reading my mind. "He said your car was pretty bad off."

Paul sits back down on my porch step, and after a second I sit down beside him.

"It is bad." I have to blink back tears just thinking about it. The stupid swastika dances across my memory, taunting me. _Somebody hates you, somebody hates you._

Paul puts an arm around me. I don't think it means anything other than that he sees I'm upset and wants to make it better. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. I want to talk about what happened last night." I twist around to look at his face. "Do you know what happened?"

"I have some idea," he says after a second. "Jennie's younger sister was Bob Sheldon's girlfriend. She's pretty torn up about it."

"I bet."

He tells me then about the dramatics that played themselves out last night while we were lying underneath the stars. He finishes with a sad shake of his head. "Darry's little brother was alway so quiet. I just can't picture him as a murderer. But I guess you never know."

Sometimes even I forget that Darry and Paul used to be best friends. Of course Paul has met Ponyboy.

But something else bothers me, too, and I can't help but speak up. "He's not a murderer. It sounds like self defense to me. Bob Sheldon had it coming-"

"Did he? So, do you think every teenage kid who goes down to the East Side to jump Greasers deserves to be killed? Or just the ones you don't know personally?"

"Darry is much better than that-"

"Now he is," Paul points out, and I wonder if I'm imagining the smug note in his voice. "Not so much when he was younger. Maybe Bob Sheldon would have made the same turnaround. But we'll never know now."

I feel sick. My head hurts. "Fine. Maybe he didn't deserve it. But going down there to beat up on two kids he thought were trying to pick up his girl was stupid. You have to admit that."

Paul readily agrees. "Yeah, it was dumb. But you've got to realize, his friends were probably taunting him the whole way about Cherry preferring white trash, things like that. You don't know what that's like."

"And you do?"

"Of course."

"Well I don't see you cruising around with a group of friends looking to jump Darry."

Paul laughs. "Babe, if I'm looking for a fight with Darrel, all I have to do is wait. He usually finds _me._ "

That draws a reluctant smile from me. It's true. But just as quickly the smile fades away again. Everything is a mess. Everything.

"Look, Diana, I'm not saying it wasn't self defense. I know it was. All I'm saying is that Bob Sheldon is paying a heck of a price for doing something a lot of other kids in this town do." He looks at me, suddenly earnest. "It's teenage bullshit, not a battle between good and evil. No one's supposed to get _seriously_ hurt."

"I know that."

"Do you?"

"Of course." I give a little shiver, and maybe it's the breeze or maybe it's everything else. "So do your friends give you a hard time since I left you for Darry?"

"Nah. The guys on the team laugh because both you and Miriam went for quarterbacks after breaking up with me, but that's not the same. There's a big difference between sixteen and twenty, you know."

"I guess so." I stand up, brushing dust off my skirt. "I should go inside. I need to call Darry and let him know where I am."

Paul stand up, too. "Alright. I guess I'll head home, then-"

"Why don't you stay for lunch?" It's an impulsive offer, and Paul looks startled by it. I'm startled myself.

"Um, alright." He eyes my door warily. "You sure that'll be okay with your parents? I think your dad kind of hates me now.."

I grin, genuinely this time. "It'll be fine. Come on, I'll make you something to eat."

* * *

Paul sits quietly at the kitchen table, watching as I call Darry.

My heart pounds. Not because Paul is here, although I know Darry wouldn't like _that_ , but because of what happened last time we saw each other. Maybe it's unfair of me, especially when I consider everything he's going through right now, but I'm still so angry about everything he said.

It's a relief when his brother answers.

"No, Soda. I don't need to talk to him. I'll just keep it quick and keep your phone line open. I'm over at my parents for a bit. I just wanted him to know that. And… and I guess we won't be able to get together on a Sunday after all. Will you tell him that?"

Soda agrees to relay my message, although I can hear the confusion in his voice.

When I hang up, I'm half expecting the phone to start ringing right away. It'll be Darry, demanding to know what the heck is going on. Or maybe he'll know why I don't really want to talk right now. Maybe he'll apologize.

I stare at the phone after I put it back on the receiver, but nothing happens.

"Are you just fooling around with me to get back at him for something?" I spin around to stare at Paul, who avoids my gaze and instead picks at his grilled cheese.

"Of course not. I just… I didn't think you wanted to go home. It has nothing to do with Darry at all."

"So, pity then?"

I think about it. "Friendship, maybe?"

He smirks at me. "At least until Darrel tells you otherwise." I throw a balled up napkin at him, which he easily catches. "You know, Diana, I don't know if I want to be your friend. You're kind of mean."

"Oh, hush."

"Watch it, _friend_." He takes a bite of his sandwich. "Well, in honor of our new friendship, can I ask you something?"

I pull out the chair across from him, smoothing my skirt underneath me as I sit. "What?"

"When did you make out with him in my car?"

"I don't want to talk about that." We look at each other, mutually suspicious. "When did you first cheat on me?"

"I don't want to talk about that." He gives me a knowing look. "You keep your secrets and I'll keep mine."

* * *

It's nighttime by the time he leaves. My father might hate him, but my mother is as delighted to see him as ever. She invites him to stay for supper, an invitation he eagerly accepts. And afterwards, we watch the sunset from my porch. It sinks down behind the cookie cutter houses in my neighborhood just as it does every other night.

Some things never change.

Paul, chin resting on the top of my head, asks me in a low voice, "so, you want to go get a coke or something? Maybe some ice cream?"

I shake my head. I really don't ever want to leave the house again, but I don't say that. I don't offer any excuses at all. And finally he picks his head up, gets to his feet, and starts the walk to his car. When he gets to it, he turns around and looks at me, not saying anything for the longest time.

"It was the July I started playing for TU," he says finally, twirling his keys around his finger. "I went out after practice one night with the rest of the team. A bunch of girls showed up, I got drunk, and one thing just sort of led to another."

It takes me a second to realize that he's giving me the answer I asked for earlier, about the first time he cheated on me. There's an odd sensation of both the pain of Paul's infidelity and the perverse pleasure of finally knowing how it all started.

It wasn't nefarious. It wasn't calculated. It just _was._ I don't know if that's better or worse.

"Do you remember her name?" I ask. I don't care, not really, I tell myself. I don't care at all.

"Yeah, I remember. But it doesn't really matter." Paul exhales. "I just want you to know… there hasn't been anyone else since we broke up the last time."

What do I say to that? "I think maybe you've got it backwards," I offer kindly. "You were supposed to be faithful when you were dating me, not now that we've broken up."

He doesn't laugh. He doesn't even smile. "I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

"Is he finally gone?" My father asks, hiding his face behind a newspaper. When I answer in the affirmative, he gives a rather pronounced sigh of relief and folds up the paper.

It's a rather startling turnaround. "I thought you liked Paul," I say, sinking down into the couch. The evening news is on, but I don't pay it any attention. We're all going to hell in a handbasket and I can't deal with that tonight.

"Mmm. In my day when a girl moved on, we usually took that as a sign to stop showing up at her house uninvited."

My mouth drops open. "That's a lie! That's a blatant lie! Grandma said you-" I break off as my father shoots me a look, silencing me as my mother comes into the room.

She looks between my father and me. "Everything okay?"

"Daddy was just telling me how much he's missed Paul," I say sweetly, ignoring the sound of disbelief my father makes.

But my mother smiles. "I've missed him, too. It's good to have him here again."

My father studies the television set, seemingly engrossed in some foreign coup. It's not until a commercial break that he clears his throat and says so quietly to my mother that I almost miss it, "it's good having Diana here again. Who cares what boys she drags along with her."

* * *

I spend a few hours watching television with my parents before turning in for the night. I'm dreading it, lying in the dark and being alone with my thoughts. Who hates me? Are they finished with me? Are they out there even now, waiting for me to fall asleep?

I pull Ferdinand against my chest. The sound of my father's footsteps in the hallway is comforting. I hear him pad around, checking that everything is locked up and all the lights are off. He stops briefly outside my door but doesn't come in, and after a moment I hear him walk back down to his bedroom.

After that, there's nothing but silence.

* * *

Around three in the morning I wake up, breathless and panicked. I'm scared. But why?

I'm clutching Ferdinand tightly and being as still as I can, listening for I don't know what… and then I hear it again. A solid thumping at my window.

I lie still. Should I go and see what it is? Should I scream for my father?

The thumping grows more insistent, and it sounds almost like someone is trying to open my window from the outside. It's locked, of course, and after a minute or two the thumping turns to knocking.

It's Paul, I think, feeling slightly relieved. It has to be. He was here earlier, he can't take no for an answer, he wants me… My legs are trembling just a little bit as I cross my bedroom and pull aside the shade.

It's Darry.

I take my sweet time opening the window. "Oh, did you decide that we're not enemies after all?" I ask him snidely, moving aside to let him in my room.

He heaves himself through the opening, losing his balance as he hits my floor and falling to the ground. "Heeeey," he says from the floor. "Diana. Fancy meetin' _you_ here."

"In my bedroom? Are you insane?" I move to help him up, and that's when the smell hits me. "Oh, God! You smell like a brewery!"

"Distillery."

"What?"

"A _distillery_." He slurs his s's only slightly. "Breweries make beer. Distilleries make liquor. I've been drinkin' bourbon, mostly, so I smell like a distillery, not a brewery."

I blink several times, mouth hanging wide open. I don't even know what to make of this. "I… I don't care. Why are you drunk? Don't you have enough problems right now without turning into an alcoholic?"

He ignores me and attempts to get to his feet. He manages it on the third try and wanders over to my closet. "Hey, where the hell's your cheerleadin' uniform? You still got it? God damn, you looked hot in that thing. I used to sit there in homeroom and fantasize about fucking you in it."

My eyes grow wide. No one has ever said _anything_ like that to me before. Not ever. It's disgusting. It's insulting. It's… it's actually kind of exciting. I'm torn between throwing him out of my room and asking him exactly what those fantasies entailed. In the end, I just stand there like an idiot and watch him rifle through my closet.

Unable to find what he's looking for, he turns back to me. He takes his eyes up and down my body and gives me a slow smile. "I guess you look pretty damn hot in what you're wearin' right now," he says, and he reaches for me.

"Don't you dare touch me!" I cry sharply, moving away from him.

"Diana!" I can't tell if he's mad or just confused. He moves for me again.

Once more I scurry away, putting my bed between us this time. "No."

His face falls. And I mean it absolutely _crumples._ "I know," he says mournfully, throwing himself onto my mattress, which squeaks in alarm. "I know. Shit, I'm a complete fuck up. I've ruined everything. Haven't I?"

"I… I didn't say that."

"You don't need to." He hiccups. "I hit him."

Gingerly I sit on the bed next to his head. "Hit who?"

"My brother. Ponyboy." He tilts his chin up to look at me. His eyes are red and bloodshot, like he's been crying. "He came home late. I slapped him. That's why he was out in the park. It's all my fault. All of it."

And then, to my absolute and utter shock, he starts to cry.

"You slapped him? Well gracious, it's not like you beat him." I give a nervous laugh. "I hardly think it was worth running away over."

"You don't understand," he moans. "My parents never hit us. Never."

"Really?" I find this hard to believe.

He gives me a withering look. "What? You think just 'cause we're poor white trash our parents beat us or somethin'? My parents were _good_ and _decent_ and they never even raised a hand to us. Just 'cause they lived over in the East Side-"

"Oh, stop. I'm just surprised. It doesn't have anything to do with where you live. My dad's hit me before."

"No way!" His voice is too loud. I cringe. "I can't see it. Your dad?"

"What? You think just 'cause we're Jews we don't act like normal people?"

His face screws up in confusion: He's too drunk for sarcasm right now. But having seen that I'm not going to be put off by the fact that he slapped his brother, he changes tack. "I ruined your life."

My eyes roll so hard around that it physically hurts. "Believe me, Darrel. My life isn't ruined."

"It is!" He sits up so fast I think his head spins and he has to shut his eyes for a minute. "You and Paul-"

"Paul cheated on me, so unless you forced him to do it-"

"No! Nononono! You don't _get_ it. My mom had a best friend. Her best friend in the whole damn world. And my dad slept with 'er. He slept with her, her husband walked out and left her with two kids, and my mom lost her best friend!" He takes me by the shoulders, looking earnest, likes he's imparting very important information. "You were happy with Paul and I _ruined_ it. I'm just like my dad!"

"Um, wouldn't that analogy make _me_ your dad?" He blinks at me, open mouthed. "I'm just saying, you and Paul were best friends, and I slept with you and ruined it. Technically, in this scenario at least, I think you're your mother."

His hands drop from my shoulders. He looks absolutely broken-hearted, so much so that my heart aches for him. I guess he got a certain satisfaction in at least equating himself with the dominant one in his parents' marriage. I don't blame him. Who wants to be the victim?

"The good thing is we're not destined to be either one of our parents." I touch his cheek gently, making him look at me. "We get to make our own choices."

"My choices are shit." He swallows. "I keep tryin' to do the right thing, Diana, but it keeps turning out wrong. I try and I try, but I never get anywhere."

"I'm sorry."

"Why can't I do anything right, huh? What's wrong with me? What's _wrong_ with me?"

I'm at a loss. I don't think this is a rhetorical question. I think he actually wants me to give him an answer. "There's nothing wrong with you, Darry."

He hiccups. "Liar. D'you know what they do to murderers in Oklahoma, Diana? They kill 'em. How'm I s'posed to hire a lawyer? They're gonna kill Johnny and my brother and there's not a damn thing I can do. And it wouldn't be happening if it weren't for me." He balls up his fists and slams them into my mattress. "It's. My. Fault."

My chest feels tight. My dad is a prosecutor. I know he won't work on this case, but how many people has he sent to their deaths? I've never thought of it before. I don't know why.

But I take a deep breath. I need to calm Darry down. More importantly, I need to get him out of my bedroom before he wakes my parents up.

"Darry, you should go home. I bet Soda will be awfully worried if he wakes up and can't find you."

Darry looks at me, as trusting as a child. "Do you think so?" I nod, and he heaved himself to his feet. "Okay. Okayokayokay." And he stumbles back to my window.

He can't drive. I know that. I debate with myself for just a fraction of a second, before crying out, "Darry, wait."

He turns around.

"You can't drive. You're lucky you got here without killing yourself. I'll drive you home."

"Yeah? You gonna drive? Didn't you back Paul's car into a telephone pole once?"

"Of all the things I did in high school, I didn't think that'd be the one that gave me a reputation," I reflect. I rush over to steady him before he falls out of my window. "Be careful."

I shut my window behind me. My parents are going to murder me. But I can't let him go like this.

"I love you," he says as I help him into the passenger seat. "IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou."

He repeats it until he passes out.

* * *

A bleary eyed Soda helps me get Darry into the house.

"I can drive you home," Soda offers hoarsely.

"No." Darry, having settled down on the couch, pops right back up. "Don't leave me."

I look at him, startled. Is he talking to me or Soda? "I guess I could walk," I say. He shouldn't be alone right now, not with his self-hatred and easy access to liquor.

Soda starts to shake his head, but Darry stops us both when he gets up and stomps towards me. "Don't leave," he says again. And then he picks me up like I'm nothing and throws me over his shoulder.

Soda looks concerned for my safety, and even though it isn't easy I attempt a smile from my upside down position. "I'll be okay!" I call to him as his brother carries me down the hallway.

Darry throws me on the bed, where I land with a startled bounce. "Don't go anywhere," he orders, stripping off his shirt and falling into bed. "Promise?"

"I promise."

My parents are _definitely_ going to kill me.

* * *

He wakes up an hour later, coming to with a moan that must mean he's sobered up and a hangover is starting to set in. "Diana?"

I'm still awake. Maybe it's the bed, or the closeness, or the fact that I can hear the neighbors screaming at each other but I haven't slept at all.

"Yeah?"

"Have you slept at all?" He looks at me and swears. "I forgot."

"Forgot _what?_ "

He doesn't answer. He throws the comforter off, and makes his way to the door with a strange lurching walk that lets me know every step is painful. He opens the door, steps out into the hallway. I lose sight of him for a moment, but then a light turns on in the hallway, bathing his room in light.

He comes back. "I forgot," he says again. "Is that better?"

I don't ask how he knows about my fear, the one I'm so ashamed of because what nineteen year old is still afraid of the dark? If I wanted to, I could probably guess who told him, but I don't want to. "Thank you," I say, hoping I don't sound as humiliated as I feel.

It's a little embarrassing, but the light does make a difference. I breathe a little easier.

Darry lays back down, rolling over towards me and taking me in his arms. He's half on top of me, but I don't mind. Maybe no one will find me here.

I'm finally drifting off to sleep, when he starts whispering in my ear. "Next time," he promises. "Next time I'm gonna remember to grab that goddamn stuffed rabbit."


	30. Chapter 30

Even before I open my eyes the next morning, I can feel the effects of a night spent drowning my troubles in liquor. My head throbs, my mouth is dry, every muscle I've got is absolutely _screaming_ at me… and to top it off, I can't feel my left arm.

The last thought gives me pause. That can't be right. Even after the kind of drinking I've been doing my limbs generally remain accounted for the next morning. I force my eyes open, ignoring the way the bright light makes me wince, and try to focus on what seems to be the problem.

I see it immediately. My arm, what I _thought_ was my arm, has been turned into a pillow for a girl who looks alarmingly like Diana. She's almost wrapped herself around it, head resting near my shoulder.

 _Shit._ I can't see Diana's face, obscured as it is by a mass of hair that flows over her face and my shoulder like a dark waterfall, but I can tell by the way she's breathing that she's still asleep. I want to wake her up, demand answers, but I guess after all I've done to her she deserves to sleep for a little while longer. So I lay as still as possible and rack my brain trying to remember.

What happened? What did I do? A mounting panic creeps up my throat, wraps itself around my heart and squeezes. Nothing I can do can ever make anything in my life right again. Nothing.

I don't know how long I lie there. It feels like hours, but realistically it's really more like fifteen minutes at most before Diana begins to stir.

She doesn't look at all surprised to be in bed with me, which is promising. "Good morning," she says softly, sweeping her hair out of her face and behind her ear.

"Mornin'," I return. I pull my arm away as pins and needles begin to pierce it, and sit up. My head screams in protest, but the panic I've been feeling recedes a little. I breathe deep, in and out, fighting nausea.

Diana sees me wince. "How are you feeling?"

"Like an idiot who keeps making terrible decisions."

"So like yourself then," Diana says cheerfully. "Excellent."

It draws a weak smile from me, but I actually am in a lot of pain. Sure, it's my own damn fault, but _still._

"Have you got aspirin?" Diana asks, deciding that she pities her big, idiot boyfriend after all.

Ex-boyfriend.

 _Shit._

"Top drawer."

She retrieves it for me, handing it over without so much as a comment. She doesn't even say anything when I swallow half a dozen. She just sits on the end of my bed, looking thoughtful.

"Diana-"

"You don't remember anything, do you?"

"Not really." Having stuffed myself full of pills I lie back on my bed. If the aspirin could start working now, that'd be _fantastic_. "I'm just hoping you're here of your own free will. My brother's already on the lam for murder. I'd hate to add kidnapping to the family repertoire."

"You were drunk. I drove you home."

"Thanks."

She shrugs. "Don't mention it."

"I'm sorry. I am _so sorry_."

"For?"

"Everything. Even the stuff I don't remember. I can't do anything right, can I?"

"Don't start that again." Her voice is sharp as she gets to her feet. "I can't handle any more of your self pity."

I swallow any argument I could make. "I know. I'm sorry."

The anger on her face dissolves almost instantly. I guess I'm just that pathetic. "Poor thing," she says, coming towards me to lay a hand on my forehead. "You really are bad off, aren't you?"

I don't know if she means because of my brother or because of the way I'm feeling, but then again it doesn't really matter. I nod, self-respect be damned. "Diana, did I… did I _cry_ last night?"

"Of course not." I can tell she's lying, the way she avoids looking me in the eye tells me that much, but I don't call her on it. Maybe she's trying to help me maintain the last shreds of my dignity, even though we both know those are all gone by now. "You were a very manly drunk, correcting my vocabulary and everything."

I watch then as she drifts around my room, collecting the things she must have discarded last night. She's wearing my t-shirt, I realize only now, the threadbare fabric clinging to her body in a way that I'm much too sick to properly appreciate. But even without that, there's still such a powerful feeling of possession as I watch her putter around _my_ room in _my_ shirt. This is the way it should be, the way it maybe always should have been.

"I can give you a ride home," I say as she begins to change, distracting myself from the sight of her nude body with an offer of help. _Let me help you. Let me make this up to you. Let me make this better._

"No, you should get some rest. Stay by the phone. That sort of thing. I'll call someone."

"Paul?"

She busies herself fastening buttons, and I know I've guessed right. How can we have come so far only to end up back where we started?

"Teddy," she says finally. "He'll come get me."

"The phone-"

"I know where your phone is, Darrel."

"Darry."

"Right." She on her way out of my room when she pauses in the doorway. "Darry, you've got to stop drinking. You don't scare me, not really, but when you start drinking..."

"I'd never hurt you," I promise, and I know I wouldn't. I'd never lift a hand to her, even three sheets to the wind.

"It isn't me I worry about. It's you. You're going to hurt yourself if you don't stop."

I examine the ceiling, the way the light and shadows come together to make new and interesting shapes. I don't know what to say. Certainly I can't tell her the truth, that hurting myself is exactly what I'm counting on.

"I'll stop."

That's not what I wanted to say, but it must be what she wanted to hear, because she finally spins around to face me.

"You promise?"

Who could know better than me the ephemeral quality of that particular promise? Promise to stop drinking, stop seeing other women, stop fucking up… keep the promise for a week, two at most before going back to doing exactly what you were doing before. Lather, rinse, repeat.

But Diana doesn't know that. In her world, a promise made is a promise kept. And so when I nod, she believes me. And… I don't know. Maybe I kind of want to be the person she thinks I can be.

* * *

Diana has never seen my house before in daylight.

I realize this as she looks around our living room. For once in my life I'm not ashamed of where I come from. I'm just too exhausted to bother. So what if she sees our threadbare furniture and the scuff marks on the hardwood floor? What difference could it possibly make now?

"Oh," she says, wandering over to my mom's old upright upon which several family pictures are precariously perched. "Do you play?"

I lean down, rattle off the few bars of Rachmaninoff I can still remember. Diana looks impressed, but before anything else can be said we're interrupted.

Soda and I stare at each other.

"You're up early," I say hesitantly.

"So are you." He snorts. "I thought for sure you'd be nursing a hangover this mornin'"

He's carrying one of Mom's old photo albums. The hair on the back of my neck starts to prickle. "What're you doin' up so early, Soda? Where you going with that?"

Diana looks between the both of us, unsure of what's happening. I'm not so sure myself, but I have a bad feeling.

"I thought… that reporter who keeps calling… I thought I could talk to him…"

"You've gotta be kiddin' me. Soda-"

"That's absolutely brilliant!" Diana elbows me in the ribs as she turns towards my brother. "I mean it, Soda. You should get your story out there, get _Ponyboy's_ story out there. Right now the papers are making it all about Robert Sheldon, but there's a story with your brother, too-"

"No. Absolutely not." My pain, _our_ pain, shouldn't be for public consumption. "Soda, come on. They'll never give you the time of day, and anything we say now could hurt Ponyboy and Johnny both."

"It could work," Soda insists.

"It could," I allow. "But it might not."

He opens his mouth to argue, but Diana interrupts again. "Maybe you both should think about it. Talk it over."

"Uh, hello? Darrel?" It's been a while, but I still recognize Teddy's voice. "Diana told me not to knock."

All the shame I felt about my house, my neighborhood, my _life_ , comes flooding back. I guess I'm not too exhausted to feel it after all.

Teddy looks ridiculously out of place in his expensive sweater and leather loafers. Undoubtedly he drove a car that costs more than my house, fresh off the car lot his dad owns. "So, uh, you ready?"

Diana moves towards him, and almost without thinking I reach out a hand to stop her. "A second," I say, and I don't know if I'm talking to Diana or Teddy. "Just give me a second."

She follows me back to my bedroom and looks at me with questioning eyes, but I don't know what I want to say to her. I just know that I wasn't quite ready to say goodbye yet.

Lucky for me, Diana is never at a loss for words. "You really should think about what your brother is suggesting."

"I don't see how telling everybody our life story could possibly help."

"You do," Diana says gently. "You understand perfectly, you just don't want to do it."

Is that true? It might be, I guess, but it isn't what I want to discuss right now. "Look, Diana, if I said anything or did anything last night that was out of line-"

"I told you. You don't have anything to apologize for, at least not when it comes to last night."

It says a lot about how much I've fucked up my relationship with Diana that getting soused and possibly abducting her from her bedroom isn't the worst thing I've done. I say as much to Diana, who actually giggles.

"You were right when you told me I was full of shit," I tell her, and she stops giggling long enough to look astonished. "I get inside my head too much sometimes. I was scared that night. I'm still scared, I guess. But you were right, Diana. Everything you said was true, I-"

"Hey, shh." She holds up a finger to my lips. "Don't get yourself all worked up. We don't have to do this right now."

"When this is all over-"

"When this is all over we can have a long talk."

I can't help myself. "I keep replaying that night over and over in my mind-"

"Hitting your brother?"

 _What a chatty drunk I was_ , I think sourly. "That night. And… the other one. Hitting the other kid."

She chews on her lip for a second. "Maybe you ought to talk to somebody about it."

"I thought that's what I was doing."

"You're welcome to talk to me about it, but I meant maybe someone who could better understand."

"Like?"

"Your brother?"

"No."

She studies the floor and her voice gets real small. "Maybe you should talk to Paul. He was there. He'd know."

"You can't be serious."

Whether she is or not I don't find out. Instead I hear the front door to my house slam open, and the distinct sound of a body hitting the drywall.

Diana pales. "Oh, no. Teddy."

* * *

It takes some effort for me to pull Dallas Winston off of Teddy Thompson, especially when none of my friends seem inclined to help me.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Teddy bursts out. He dusts himself off and gives us all a withering look. "I'm just here to pick Diana up. Jesus _Christ._ "

"You're one of _them_ ," Dally fairly spits. "A Soc. Don't think you can just come wanderin' down here, not when we can't even go outside without getting jumped."

"Oh, boy." Teddy rolls his eyes. "Look, pal, I don't know who you are, but I am twenty-two years old. I left that high school stuff behind a long, _long_ time ago." But even as Teddy's saying this, he's eyeing Dally like somehow Dally is worth less than the dirt under Teddy's feet.

He might have left the jumpings and the beatings behind a long, long time ago, but old habits die hard.

Dally gives Teddy a hard shove. "Here's what you're gonna do. Call your little Socy friends, have them meets us. We'll have ourselves a little council of war, settle this shit once and for all."

"Who the hell- sorry, Diana. Who the _heck_ do you think you are? Do you think I can snap my fingers and call together some sort of meeting? I don't know these kids who cruise down here looking for kicks. I've got a wife, a kid on the way-"

Dally's only answer is another shove. "I don't care who you have to call. You're gonna get someone down here to talk to us-"

"Stop it!" Diana takes one tentative step forward, and then another. "Come on, Teddy. Let's go!"

Dally shakes his head. "He's not going anywhere-"

"I'll get you what you want. A, what was it? Council of War?" I can't see her face, but I don't have to. I can hear the mockery in her voice. "You want people, I'll get you people."

"Yeah? How's that? You gonna call blondie for help?"

Paul. It's like I can't escape him.

"What does it matter to you?" Diana asks coolly. "So long as you get what you want?"

Dallas opens his mouth to say something, but I don't much want to hear it. I push past Two-Bit, who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else right now, and get between Dally and Teddy. "Knock it off," I say. I mean it to come out threatening, but instead it just comes out how I feel: tired. And maybe that's why Dally doesn't argue.

I wait until Diana and Teddy are gone before rounding on Dally. "What was that about?"

Dally's strange blue eyes are bright, almost feverishly so. "We'll get 'em to leave us alone, one way or another."

* * *

"That's it," Two-Bit declares dramatically, almost leaping from the couch in sudden excitement. "I'm going to Texas to look for them."

Even Soda, willing to do anything to find his kid brother, thinks it's a dumb idea. "Texas is a big state," he says hesitantly.

Dally sneers. "I just made that up so the cops would be looking in the wrong direction, idiot. They ain't really in Texas."

"Where are they, then?" Steve asks, seizing on to Dally's words even faster than I do. Steve might be a pain in the ass, but he's not dumb.

Dally's sneer becomes a scowl. "I don't know."

"No," I say. My mind is slowly processing everything Dally has said. "You said you wanted the cops to go the wrong way. So what's the right way, then?"

"Do you know where they are?" Soda asks, and the hopeful note in his voice kills me.

"How the hell would I?" Dally demands.

"Dallas, you're going to be very sorry if I find out you know where my brother is and you're not telling me." I say it slowly, deliberately enunciating every word so that he knows I'm not fooling around.

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a fucking promise. If you're holding out on us-"

"I'm _not_ -"

"If you _are-"_

The ringing of the phone ends the standoff between Dally and me. For a second nobody moves. Police? Ponyboy? Diana?

It's me who answers, snatching the phone off the receiver with an impatience I don't even bother to conceal. Best to get whatever this is over with, rip off the bandage as quickly as possible.

I grit my teeth. "Hello."

"Don't sound so thrilled," says the voice on the other end. "This wasn't my bright idea. I don't like it any more than you do."

"The hell you want, Paul?"

"Diana came to see me. She begged me to call you, something about getting our sides together to talk."

Of course she went to him. Of course she did. I could almost kill Dally for getting her involved in this, for shoving her back into Paul's arms.

I'm so angry I forget to answer. Paul prods me again. "Darrel? Did Diana get the story right?"

"Yes."

"You bring three, I'll bring three. We can meet tomorrow afternoon at Tasty Freeze."

"Tasty Freeze?"

"I like milkshakes with my war councils," Paul says.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. If the pounding in my head is anything to go by, my headache is returning with a vengeance. "Fine."

"Aw, come on. It's not so bad. Neutral territory, manager to call the cops if things get out of hand…"

"Milkshakes."

"That's the spirit."

I have to catch myself before I can laugh. "We'll be there."

* * *

 _Another day without my brother,_ I think, watching the sun sink down low in the sky. Is he hurt? Is he scared? Is he warm enough? He wasn't wearing a jacket the last time I saw him, and God knows he probably didn't have the good sense to pick one up before he skipped town.

What if he needs me? What if he needs me and I'm not there for him?

My throat burns, and I wish I had something to soothe it. A beer, maybe. Or something stronger. Anything to blot out the idea that my kid brother might be out there somewhere, needing me, and I have no idea how to get to him.

I shift in the armchair, uncomfortable. Of course I promised Diana I wouldn't drink anymore, but good God our relationship is nothing if not a study in mutual disappointment. But if Ponyboy really is out there somewhere, needing me… how will I ever know it if I'm blind drunk the way I was last night?

Instead of pouring myself a glass, I focus on my remaining brother. Soda lies on the couch, and I don't think I've ever seen him be so still for so long. He looks sad. Sad and worried.

"He's okay," I say, just to comfort him. I don't really believe it. But maybe if I say it enough my brother will. "He's got Johnny. He isn't alone."

Soda gives a start, and the guilty look on his face clues me in to the fact that he wasn't thinking about Ponyboy at all. And there's only one other thing that could give my brother so much anxiety right now.

"How's Sandy?"

Soda's brow furrows. "I don't know."

"Don't know?"

"She doesn't want to get married."

"What does she want to do?"

"She thinks she's gonna go to Florida, give the kid up when it's born." He slams his fist against the couch. "She can't _do_ that."

 _Well, at least one of them has some sense._ And at least I have the good sense not to say this. Instead, I suggest, "she's awfully young, Soda. And probably scared out of her mind."

"But it's my kid-" he breaks off, jaw clenching.

"What?"

He looks away, ashamed of the pain that's all too obvious on his face. "She says it isn't. She says she, well…"

"Oh, Soda."

"She's lying!" He insists. "She has to be. And even if she isn't, I don't care."

I choose my words carefully. "If she's pregnant with someone else's kid, she's probably not gonna marry you, Soda."

"She will. She has to. I love her." His golden eyes are wide. "I love her."

"I know you do." Who could understand better than me the way a girl can get under your skin so much that you'd forgive her anything? "Believe me, I get it."

"I used to think you were an idiot for chasing after Diana like you do." His nose twitches as he tries not to cry. "I thought you should just let her go if she wasn't going to be loyal or faithful. But I get it now. I get it."

"Well, this is awkward." Diana's voice makes me jump. "Is this a bad time? I mean, clearly it is, but I have something important for you that can't wait."

She shuts the door behind her, and looks back and forth between my brother and me.

"We've got nothing else but bad times right now," Soda remarks, sounding almost cheerful about it. Maybe the distraction of Diana is a relief for him, I don't know. "You want me to leave?"

"No. Not at all. What I want to say can be said to you both." She pauses, and I think it might be for dramatic effect. "I got you a lawyer."

She looks disappointed when neither Soda nor I say anything. "I can't afford a lawyer," I remind her after a second.

She kneels beside my armchair and passes me a business card. "It's okay, he's gonna do it for free."

"I don't want charity-"

She bristles at that. "It's not charity! Lawyers do this kind of stuff all the time. I told him about your family and about Ponyboy. He's going to work pro bono."

"Why would he do that?" Soda asks, suspicious. I can't blame him. No one just gives shit away for free, I don't care how sorry they feel for us.

"To make a name for himself," Diana explains patiently, like she's dealing with people too dense to understand basic facts. "Your brother and his friend, they were attacked. It's clearly self-defense. The DA might not even bring charges. But if he does, it'll expose all the ugly things about Tulsa the adults want to keep hidden. All the inequality, the way certain people can get away with everything…" Diana's voice takes on a dreamy quality. "Really, by the time I was done telling him all of this, he was begging _me_ to take this case. This is the kind of case lawyers spend a lifetime dreaming about."

I'm still skeptical. "And is he going to help Johnny, too?"

She nods. "Oh, yes. Just… call him, okay?"

"I'll think about it."

She sighs. "You're very stubborn."

"Some people find it charming."

"Name _one_."

"You."

She rolls her eyes. "Hardly."

"I think we should call him." Soda sounds excited.

Diana passes me another card. "And _this_ is the number for a family lawyer. He won't do anything for free, but he says he can work something out." When I don't take the card, she frowns. "Darry, I'm just trying to help. You were so upset last night-"

"Hey, Soda? Can you give us a second?"

Soda plucks the card out of Diana's hand. "Well _I_ appreciate it. I'll call him."

I grit my teeth. "Soda…"

"I'm going, I'm going."

Diana gets to her feet. "I was trying to help, Darry. I wasn't trying to offend you-"

"I'm not offended. It's just… your boss. The one who tries to, well… what did you have to do for him to help you out like this?"

Diana's mouth drops open. "Nothing! Why would you even think that? I know these people through the Abernathys. I met them over the _summer_!"

I can feel my face turning red. "Oh."

Diana still looks stunned, but after a second she starts to smile. "How can anyone so gosh darned smart be so stupid, huh?"

I rub my eyes. "I'm starting to think it's some sort of gift."

She sits on my lap and kisses my forehead. "So you'll call them?"

"I said I'd think about it." It's the best I can do. She seems to accept it, not objecting when I kiss her neck, and then her lips.

"I saw Paul," she confesses.

Romantic interlude over. "I know. He called."

"I didn't know who else to talk to."

"It's fine," I tell her. And I guess it is. As jealous as I am, it seems ridiculous to hold it against her. Not when she's just trying to help. "I must've really poured out my heart and soul last night, huh?"

Her head rests on my shoulder. "I can't believe you don't remember," she teases.

"Believe it, 'cause I really don't." It's not exactly true, bits and pieces have come back to me, I'm just not exactly eager to remember everything I told her. "Can you stay? Please?"

She sighs and pulls away. "I wish I could. But my parents aren't too thrilled about last night. The only reason I'm allowed out right now is that they think I'm helping Lucy house hunt."

"How come you're staying with them anyway?"

Disappointment makes my voice rougher than I mean it to be, so I try to sound softer when I add, "not that I don't understand why you'd want to."

"Oh, my car broke down. I thought my dad could drive me to work."

"Did you miss work today? Shit, Diana. I wasn't thinking."

"It's okay. My dad told my boss I wouldn't be in at all for a while, so it works out."

"Then why stay with your parents at all?" I can't help but ask. "If you're not going to work anyway-"

She cuts me off with a kiss. "So that the Heathcliffs of the world could come knocking on my bedroom window demanding to be let inside. That'd be hard to manage if I were on the third floor."

"Cathy."

Her brows lift. "What?"

"It was Cathy, her ghost, actually, that was knocking at the window. Not Heathcliff." She nods vaguely, but I can hear her thinking _nerd_. Part of me kind of wants to ask her about _The Brothers Karamazov_ , but this probably isn't a good time. "You know what? Nevermind. Nevermind. I love you."

"I love you, too." She looks reluctant to leave. "No drinking tonight, okay? Please?"

"Okay." _No Paul,_ I want to tell her, but I keep my mouth shut. I guess I'm learning.

She kisses me again. It's strange, I manage to think, holding on to her for as long as I can, that even as miserable as I should be, as I _am_ , I can still manage to be so undeniably happy.


	31. Chapter 31

A/N: Let me start off with an apology for being away for so long. My daughter has had numerous health issues since the start of the year, and they culminated in a surgery this past week. Necessarily fanfiction had to take a backseat for a bit. Things are starting to improve, however, and I'm hoping to get caught up on reviews and PMs this week. Secondly... this chapter was written in the waiting room of many doctors' offices and during several late nights. Consequently it's not my best work. Hopefully y'all forgive me and find something in here to enjoy anyway!

* * *

Soda lets out a low whistle as he surveys the damage to my little yellow car. "Don't take this the wrong way, Diana, but I think somebody out there doesn't like you."

I pull my sweater more tightly around my shoulders. "So I've gathered. I guess there's nothing you can do for this, huh?"

"The tires, maybe, but the rest is body work." He leans closer to inspect the swastika. "Did they put sugar in the engine or anything?"

"Gosh, I didn't even think to look at that." I feel pretty dumb, but Soda just gives me a sympathetic look before popping open the hood of the car.

"I don't see anything under here. Whoever it was was probably just lookin' to scare you."

 _It worked_ , I think. "Well, thanks anyway, Soda. It was nice of you to come and take a look at it."

"Darry insisted. I guess he didn't know-"

"Please don't tell him," I beg. "I'll tell him eventually, but I thought he had enough to worry about."

"No argument here." Soda fiddles with his bag. "Can I, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

Soda bites his lip, looking younger than sixteen. It strikes me suddenly that he's just a child. A child who has maybe seen too much, but a child all the same. He's a child, his younger brother is _definitely_ a child, and his friends are all children. Even _Dallas Winston_ is still technically a child. I swallow. _Good grief._

"D'you think you can still… _love_ somebody even when you're runnin' around on 'em?"

I freeze. _He's asking you that because he thinks you cheated on his brother_ , a voice inside my head whispers. "Soda, I never-"

"Not you! My girl, Sandy." He blinks, eyes glassy. "At least, I _thought_ she was my girl."

For a second I wonder why he'd ask me, of all people. But I guess he doesn't have anyone else. Maybe I'm the only girl he can ask and trust he'll get honest advice from. I scrounge around for the right words, knowing I've only got one shot at this.

"Soda, a year ago I would have said absolutely not."

"And now?"

I try to choose my words carefully. "I think love is more complicated than I ever imagined it would be. It isn't cut and dry. You can love someone and do horrible things to them at the same time."

He mulls that over, and I guess it satisfies him. "Thanks, Diana."

"That doesn't mean I think you should forgive her," I warn sharply.

"Couldn't even if I wanted to." He smiles weakly. "She's been shipped off to Florida."

"I'm sorry." I squeeze his arm. "I really am. I know how much it hurts to be blindsided by something like that. But you deserve better."

"I like you, Diana," he bursts out suddenly.

"Sounds like there's a but coming."

He shakes his head. "No buts. I just wanted you to know. I thought you were, well, I guess it doesn't matter what I thought. But I like you, and I think you're good for Darry."

I have to laugh. "Speaking of Darry, are you sure the two of you are related? You two are complete opposites. I know more about your feelings today than I know about Darry's for the last four years."

He doesn't laugh. "Darry's a good guy," he says earnestly. "He feels a lot, he just doesn't know how to show it. He's always been like that, but it's gotten worse now."

"I know he's a good guy, Soda," I say gently. "You don't have to tell me that."

"Good, good. 'Cause I know he really likes you, even if he does come across the wrong way sometimes. It's the same with Ponyboy, actually. The two of you drive him crazy, 'cause he loves y'all so much and he doesn't know how to show it except worryin' the both of you to death."

I don't know how I feel about being compared to the youngest Curtis brother. "You don't have to explain him to me. I think I understand him more and more every day."

"I'm glad." Soda does actually look relieved, and I think what a nice thing it must be to have siblings who love you. "He needs that, now more than ever."

"Diana?" Uncertainty makes my mother's voice shaky. The garage is almost foreign territory for her. "I heard you were out here, and-oh! Who's this?"

"This is Darry's brother, Soda." Her eyebrows shoot up at his name, but she offers him a smile just the same. "He was just taking a look at my car."

"Alright." To my surprise, she turns to Soda. "Would you like to stay for lunch?"

"Oh, no ma'am. I couldn't possibly-"

"Yes, you can," she insists, and to be honest I have no idea what's happening. "Diana and her father hardly eat, and I've made so much food. You'll be doing me a favor."

Soda looks at me. I look at him. I'm sure he's heard all about how much my mother hates Darry, how she thinks I can do better. But I guess she's long since grasped what has only just occurred to me; Soda is a child, an orphan, and he's much too skinny, even for a kid on the East Side.

"Come inside," she prods gently, using a tone that until now I've only ever heard her use with Paul. "Both of you. Lunch is ready."

* * *

"No kiddin'? She invited Soda to stay for lunch? And the food wasn't poisoned- ow!" Darry yelps as I pull a strand of hair that until now I've merely been running my fingers through. He picks his head up long enough to glare at me, before dropping it back down to my lap. "Sorry, I'm just shocked, I guess. I thought your mom hated all of us hoods and delinquents."

"Just the ones who show up in the middle of the night and abduct her daughter," I say brightly. "And the ones who take advantage of said daughter on her couch while she's out of town."

"So just me then. Fantastic." It's a moment of levity that ends too soon as the humor drains from his face and he gets that drained, pinched look I've become too familiar with.

Soda drove me to their house after lunch, and Darry and I have been sitting on the couch ever since. He's staring at the phone, while I stare at him staring at the phone. It's not exactly what I would call a good time, but I don't mind. Bit by bit he's letting me in.

"Tell me how your meeting with the Socs went," I suggest, trying to distract him for even just a moment. "Soda said you got banned from the Tastee Freeze."

He snorts. "Good thing your mom didn't hear about that."

"Is it true? The Tastee Freeze, the movies," I tick the places off on my fingers. "You keep this up and the only place we'll have to go is your house."

He narrows his eyes. "You don't get your feet off my coffee table _you_ won't be comin' here anymore."

I yank my feet off the coffee table so fast I think it gives him whiplash. "I'm sorry, I just-"

"Relax, it's a joke." He cracks a grin. "Believe me, your feet are probably one of the _least_ offensive things to ever be on that table."

"Eew."

"Tell me about it."

It doesn't escape me that he's trying to change the subject. And I let him, because maybe this isn't any of my business. And maybe too, because the less I know the better.

"Nobody on _our_ side did anything wrong," Darry says finally, I wonder for a second if I'm included in the _our_ , but I don't ask. "Paul brought Cal-"

I groan. "Oh, good grief. I meant for him to wrangle up a few teenagers, not drag _Cal_ into it."

"Well he did." Darry's eyes are hard. "Cal said something he shouldn't have."

"About what? Oh, right. Me." I feel sick and kind of dirty. God only knows what he said about me to all those boys. "You didn't hurt him, did you?"

"Not me, no. Paul, on the other hand, is not as even tempered as I am."

"Is… is that a joke?" I ask, uncertain. It has to be a joke, otherwise the world as I know it has been turned completely upside down.

"No. Paul slammed Cal's face right into the table. I couldn't have done it better myself." Darry sounds half admiring. "Everything went to Hell after that. There was yelling, and blood. Oh, but we're meeting Friday night to settle things once and for all. So we all got what we came for."

I close my eyes, trying to process everything. "What did Cal say about me?" I finally ask.

"It's not worth repeating," Darry says harshly. "Nothing he says ever is."

"Please tell me, Darry."

"It was something nasty. About you and-"

"And?" I prompt, seeing Darry's jaw tighten. " _Please._ "

Darry's ears are bright red. It must be bad for him to be reacting like this. "Paul's _dad._ " Darry looks sick. "I'm not gonna repeat it, but he deserved worse than Paul gave him, that's for damn sure."

"That's disgusting." I shouldn't feel guilty, not when I'm not the one who married a child or made a dirty remark. I tell myself this in a stern voice, all the while feeling guilty just for existing. "I can't imagine how he thought that was going to go."

Darry studies my face. "That's not where he started at. It's just where he ended up."

"Oh." My voice sounds very small. "So I guess everyone knows I ended up naked in bed with him, huh?"

"They know you didn't sleep with him too." Darry sounds like he particularly relishes that. "I think that's why he hates you."

 _He hates me_. I blink rapidly as several things suddenly fall into place. But no… it couldn't be. "I don't want to talk about this anymore," I confess.

"Me neither." He closes his eyes again as I start to once again run my fingers through his hair. "God, everything's a mess, Diana. Everything."

The phone rings. He springs up from my lap and snatches the phone off the receiver. I can tell it isn't about Ponyboy from the disappointment that's etched across his face, but who it actually is I don't know until he hands it up. His face is pale.

"That was Tim Shepard," he says, although I don't ask. We're both making progress. "He's coming over here with his… friends."

Darry looks at me. I look at Darry. It's clear he doesn't want me here for Tim Shepard's visit, even if won't actually ask me to leave. It's tempting to assume that he's embarrassed by me, his almost Soc girlfriend, and I almost start down that road. But then I stop. I stop and _really_ look at him. And I think, what does this look like from his point of view?

A group of greasers coming over, the dangerous kind with switchblades in their pockets and real criminal records. Me, the girl he indisputably likes, who has already expressed a certain level of disdain for those same hoods.

He doesn't ask me to leave. That has to mean something. I take a deep breath and try my best to give him some grace.

"When will they be here?"

"About an hour."

"An hour," I repeat. I force myself to smile. "That's just enough time for you to take me back home."

* * *

My father is less than pleased when I get home.

"All this coming and going has to stop, Diana." He crosses his arms. "I don't like it and it's upsetting your mother."

"Mom didn't seem upset earlier," I argue, letting the door slam shut behind me. "And if you're that upset about it, I can always go back to my apartment."

He frowns. I can tell that this isn't the way he thought this conversation was going to go, but having tasting freedom I am no longer easily cowed. He presses his lips together, realizing maybe for the first time that sheer force of will is no longer enough when it comes to dealing with a recalcitrant teenage daughter; he's going to have to deal with me as an adult.

"Let's not be hasty," he finally says. "In the future, some notice of your whereabouts would be appreciated. And absolutely no more running off in the middle of the night."

"I told you! That was just because I had to drive Darry home!"

"I don't care. I won't have you disappearing at odd hours." I open my mouth, prepared to threaten to leave again, but my father holds up a hand to stop me. "Please consider what it was like for us to wake up and realize you weren't where we'd left you. Given everything that's happened, consider for just a minute how we felt."

"I'm sorry." And I mean it. I wasn't thinking about anything by Darry in that moment, and I can't blame my parents for worrying. "It won't happen again, not so long as I'm staying here."

My father sits back down on the couch, momentarily appeased. He's treating me almost like an adult, I realize excitedly. Recklessly, I decide to push my luck.

"Daddy," I say, sitting next to him. "Can I ask you something?"

"Good grief, you just got home, you can't want to go back out already!"

"No, I'm home for the evening." Wisely I don't say a word about Tim Shepard. "But I have a question. About you and Mom."

His eyebrows lift ever so slightly, but he doesn't turn away from the television set. "Go on."

"How come nobody ever told me that Mom has been divorced?"

My father's ensuing coughing fit takes me a bit by surprise, but I wait patiently for him to finish.

"You've been talking to your grandmother," he accuses hoarsely.

I nod. I have indeed been speaking to Grandmother Hayes. Who did he think gave me the money?

"Well it's none of your business."

"I'll ask Mom then."

"Absolutely _not_. Don't you ever, _ever_ mention this to your mother. Do you hear me, Diana?"

His stern voice lets me know he's serious and, to my own irritation, I can't help but revert back to obedient daughter when he uses it. It's annoying.

My compliance relaxes my father though, and he eventually starts to talking. "Your mother got married at sixteen. He was… he wasn't very nice to her. I was a senior at Columbia when I met her."

"Was it love at first sight?" I ask, eager for this to be like something from a novel. "Did you throw her over your shoulder and carry her off into the sunset?"

My father's eyes narrow. "Hardly. A couple of weeks of me chasing after her and her husband beat her up so badly she ended up in the hospital for three weeks."

My mouth drops open. I can't imagine somebody deliberately choosing to hurt my gentle, pretty mother whose life has been entirely devoted to making sure everyone around her is happy and well fed. Just the idea brings tears to my eyes. "Poor mom," I manage.

"Indeed."

"But you got married in the end," I insist.

"Yes."

"How?"

"I made it impossible for her to stay."

It takes me a few seconds to work out what he means by that, but eventually I realize that my mother must have gotten pregnant. But that can't be right… "but I wasn't born until you were in law school!" I can't help the accusatory tone of my voice. God help me if I've got some crazy brother locked up somewhere in upstate New York.

"We had another daughter," he says conversationally, like he's discussing the weather. "She passed away before you were born."

"I still think it's kind of romantic," I say after a few minutes of taking all of this in. "And I really admire Mom."

My father actually rolls his eyes at me. "It's not romantic, Diana. I was arrogant and thought I knew everything. She could have gotten killed because of me! And after she got a divorce her family disowned her. They thought she should have stayed."

"With a man who hit her?"

"His father was high up in the Party," my father explains. "It shamed her parents when she left him for some Serbian kid with the Goyish name who didn't even speak Yiddish."

"Goyish is Yiddish," I point out.

"Well I've had that one thrown at me so much it sunk in." He's only a _little_ bitter. "But they didn't like me being _Sephardim_. That was their main point against me."

It's annoying that a people as discriminated against as the Jews can discriminate against one another, but I guess nobody wants to be the bottom of the dogpile. "I love you, Dad."

"I love you too, Diana." He looks at me, fixing me with the dark eyes that I inherited from him. "Don't tell your mother you know any of this, okay? It would upset her."

I have a new appreciation for my mother, and it hurts that I'll never be able to tell her. I understand now her nervousness, and why she might feel inclined to hero worship the husband who, to the best of my recollection, has never once raised his voice or had even so much as a sip of alcohol under her roof. And I finally understand why she might gravitate towards Paul and his sunny personality, while shying away from the darker intensity of Darrel. I thought it was economics.

I thought a lot of things.

"Your other daughter, the one who died." I can't think of her as my sister. That word feels so foreign to me. "What was her name?"

It takes my father a while to answer. That's how I know that despite the breezy manner he used earlier, this is a wound that still bleeds. "Esther," he says. "Her name was Esther."

* * *

The next afternoon I find myself back at the Curtis house, cruising over in a car I borrowed from Teddy and with the explicit permission of my father to visit.

When I get there, I have to wait. The empty lot near their house appears to be hosting some sort of meeting, and I'm not brave enough to walk right up to such a large group of greasers, most of whom I don't know.

Someone _else_ is brave enough, though. Someone with red hair and a Stingray. "Is that Sherri Valance?" I ask Darry, when he slides into the front seat of the car.

He tries to act cool, crossing his arms and looking smug. "I don't want to brag, but she said I could call her Cherry."

Not to be outdone, I smile sweetly. "You know, I bet she knows exactly where _her_ cheerleading uniform is."

His ears go red. "I was drunk when I said that."

"So I went to all the trouble of finding my uniform for _nothing_?"

He goes absolutely scarlet. "Diana, stop-"

"That's interesting. You'll sit in a bar all night to pick up women and sleep with a different one every night of the week, but I stop acting like a coy virgin and it's suddenly the end of the world-"

"That wasn't what I meant! I'm just… I didn't mean to say it, okay?"

"The part about the uniform or the part where you told me to stop?"

He looks nervously out the window. "I wonder if Amos Jenkins is still here. Suddenly getting my ass kicked for sleeping with his sister looks _so_ much more appealing."

"Wimp. I'm just teasing." He still looks nervous. "So what did Sherri want?"

"She feels bad about what happened, thinks somehow it's all her fault. Which it's _not_ , but she still feels guilty."

"So she came down here just to talk?"

He thinks. "She wants to help us out, let us know what the Socs are planning."

I'm a little disappointed I didn't think of doing that myself, but since anything I'd learn would come from Paul I guess it's okay that I didn't. "Well, that's nice, I guess."

"Yeah," he says slowly. "Some of the guys weren't so thrilled to see her. They wanted to jump her, just 'cause of whose girl she was."

"Oh?"

"No one's threatenin' you, are they?" He turns to me, blue eyes filled with urgency. "I never thought they'd drag girls into it, but things are so different now. They might see you as some sort of target just 'cause of me."

"Of course not," I say, but I've hesitated for too long and he senses the lie.

"Someone did." He groans. "That's why you went to stay where your parents, isn't it? You should have _told_ me, Diana!"

"It's not quite like that," I say. And briefly I tell him about my car. "So, see? It's probably not related to you at all."

"Suspicious timing," he notes.

I shake my head. I don't want him to blame himself, but there's also a part of me that doesn't want to let him have my hate crime. It's strange, I know.

"I think it was Cal," I say quietly. It's the first time I've really admitted it, even to myself. "I should have just slept with him. It would have been cheaper in the long run."

"It sounds like him," Darry agrees. "And you can't say it doesn't have anything to do with me, 'cause trashing his car like that is exactly what I did back in high school."

I hadn't thought about that. "I suppose that might have influenced him. But I think he hates me independently of you. The only time he's been nice to me was when he thought I might go to bed with him."

"Are you gonna go to the cops?"

I snort, and even he looks amused by that idea that the cops would do anything to anyone as seemingly upstanding as Gregory Calhoun. "They don't care about my car. There was a murder a few days ago, in case you didn't know."

"Yeah, I think I heard about that." He tries to make a joke, but he can't keep the fear from creeping into his eyes at the mention of what Ponyboy has done. He clenches his jaw, looks away. "I guess I'd better go inside. God only knows what those useless hoods are gettin' up to in there."

I smile, watching as he hauls himself out of the car and shuts the door. He gets halfway up the sidewalk before stopping, and he turns back with a quizzical look.

"What?" I ask, as he opens the passenger door once again.

"Aren't you coming?"

"Inside?"

"Yeah."

"With… everyone?"

He nods. "Yeeeah. You don't have to, I guess. I just thought, I don't know. I thought you might _want_ to."

"I do! I do!" I pull the keys out of the ignition so fast I almost drop them on the mat below. "I mean, if you're sure."

"Wouldn't ask if I wasn't."

 _Progress_ , I think. I hesitate for just a second. And then I scramble out of the car and follow him up to his house.


	32. Chapter 32

Diana's entrance goes over like a lead balloon.

Whatever conversation was taking place stops as soon as she enters the room, looking ridiculously out of place among all these shifty eyed hoods. I don't think it's _all_ down to the fact that she comes off as a Soc: She's a girl, the lone female present, and there are just some things you don't talk about in front of girls.

But shit, who am I kidding? It's mostly because she looks like a Soc.

I must be pretty dumb. I mean, I must be just outright _stupid_ to bring her here. Didn't I just hear some of these guys talk about jumping Cherry Valance just because she dated Bob Sheldon? And now I'm bringing Diana in to meet them all like it's a goddamn ice cream social and not us talking about a rumble.

That's the trouble with Diana's sunny attitude and persistent optimism; it's _catching_.

So anyway, Diana walks in and everything stops. I ignore the guys Tim brought with him and the couple of guys from Brumley who felt comfortable enough to make themselves at home inside my living room. Instead I zero in on Dallas Winston. I don't know why, but I think if anyone says anything it's gonna be him. Already he's sneering, and I think with a pang that I'm gonna have to teach him a lesson in front of every guy here or my reputation will be shit from here on out, not that I really want to do that in front of Diana, although come to think of it tearing a guy apart while she looked on _did_ work out for me the last time I did it…

That's how my thoughts race along as I lock eyes with Dally. And I'm so focused on him and what I think is his attitude that the asshole who saunters up to me and Diana goes unnoticed until he's right in front of me.

Diana's hand clings to mine as the hood faces us down, but if she's scared she doesn't show it. Maybe it's pride or maybe she trusts me to take care of it.

I hope she trusts me enough to know that I'm not gonna let anything happen to her.

"So you kicked my sister to the curb 'cause of this-"

"You better think about what you're gonna say," I warn him. "There was never anything serious between me and your sister-"

"So you just fucked my sister-"

"Give it up, Amos," Dally snaps, taking me by surprise. "Half the people here've fucked your sister."

Amos turns bright red, and I start to feel bad for him. I don't even remember his sister's name. Did she really think so highly of me that she's egging her brother on in all this?

Amos maybe starts to say something else, but Tim stands up. Unlike me, Tim is a leader in every sense of the word. I got the title mostly by default since I'm the biggest and the oldest, but hell if anyone pays me any extra attention because of it. If I said sit to anyone in my gang they'd stand just to fuck with me.

Tim's gang is different. There are rules and discipline gets meted out pretty regularly. So when Tim gets to his feet, Amos pays attention.

"Jenkins, if you can't play nicely with others maybe you should run on home."

He doesn't even have to raise his voice for Amos to get the message, and I'm a little jealous. Tim's got two younger siblings. Maybe I should be taking notes?

Before I can crack open a notebook and write down _be the scariest motherfucker in the room_ , Tim eyes Diana. "I remember you," he says, and Diana's cheeks redden. "You dated that football player, the goofy one." His eyes flick to me and he smirks, maybe remembering that the goofy football player used to be my best friend. "Nice work."

I don't know what to say. "Uh, thank you," I finally decide, trying not to yelp when Diana pinches the inside of my palm.

Soda stands up to give my palm pinching girlfriend (she's not my girlfriend yet, but I keep forgetting this important fact) his seat. She perches on the edge of the couch where she does a pretty good job of not looking scared. I'm proud of her.

Soda pushes past Tim to come stand next to me. He crosses his arms, doing his best to look tough. It's a message; we're Curtises, and the Curtises stick together. We may not have anything else, but dammit we've got each other.

And we'll get Ponyboy back, too. Of that I'm sure.

* * *

"D'you think it's weird that Dally took up for you?"

I glance over at Soda, surprised. It's just our gang left now, and Soda asks me this in a low voice, keeping one eye on Dally as he does so: Dally pays no attention to us, he and Two-Bit are locked into some sort of intense discussion.

"Not really. Dally enjoys givin' just about anyone a hard time." I nod to where he and Two-Bit stand. Two-But looks pissed. "You don't think Two-Bit's got it in his head to go to Texas again, do you?"

Soda has an odd expression on his face. "No, I don't think that's an issue."

"Hey, we'll get this fixed, okay? I don't know how, but I'm gonna call that lawyer Diana got for us and- hey, where did Diana go?"

"She said she was gonna go back to your room." Soda shrugs. "I think she was a little overwhelmed. I told her to check out your yearbooks."

" _Tell_ me you're joking."

Soda just grins. "Worried she'll wonder why the page she's on is all stained and crinkly?"

"Oh, shut up."

I can still hear him laughing as I hurry towards my bedroom.

Sure enough, Diana is stretched out on my bed perusing my Senior yearbook when I enter. She smiles up at me apologetically.

"Sorry I left, I was just feeling pretty out of place. I thought nobody would notice-"

"You're fine. What've you got there?"

She holds up my yearbook while I do a pretty good job of pretending to be surprised. "Soda told me I should grab it. Do you know why?"

"Not a clue," I lie.

Diana flips a page and grins. "Now _there's_ a familiar face."

I cross the room to look. I'm worried that it's Paul and we're gonna have to go there _again_ , but instead it's Tim Shepard's face that looks sullenly up at me. He must have only been sixteen when the picture was taken, but he looks almost exactly the same. Only his scar is missing.

"He looks like he was forced to be there at gunpoint," Diana observes before sighing longingly. "I had _such_ a crush on him in high school."

My mouth drops open. "What?"

She looks up. "I had a crush on him. In high school."

"I heard that… but… good God, _why_?"

"I don't know. He was good looking, I guess. And he had _such_ an attitude, like he didn't care about anything. Plus he had those smoldering dark eyes-"

"Too bad he's got that scar now," I remind her, voice as sarcastic as I can make it. "It must ruin those 'smoldering dark eyes'."

"Not a bit. It gives him a rugged sort of look, don't you think?" She giggles. "You look upset."

"I'm not upset! I'm…" I search for a word, but I can't think of one that really conveys what I'm feeling right now.

"Upset?" Diana offers. "Don't worry. I don't have a crush on him anymore, if that makes you feel better."

It does, and that's irritating. I glower down at her, but she just ignores me, and eventually I give up and sit down on my bed.

Diana flips another page. "So what's Amos's sisters name, anyway?"

 _Fantastic._ This again. "It doesn't matter."

"You don't remember, do you?" She waits for me to deny it, but I can't. "You're utterly despicable, you know that?"

I don't take offense, because instead of looking appalled she looks downright delighted. Instead I watch as the undergraduate classes of Will Rogers flip by and we enter the extracurricular activities. And then there she is in all of her glory, Diana the Cheerleader.

Despite Soda's teasing it isn't stained _or_ crinkly, but it's certainly a page I might have lingered over a little too long in the past. I can't help it. The photographer captured Diana in the middle of a jump or something so that the skirt of her cheerleading uniform rose a little too high and revealed a little too much leg and just a hint of the curve of her ass. It's a hot picture: I think the yearbook editor must have thought so too, because I can't imagine it would have made the cut otherwise.

"I hate this picture."

Diana's voice interrupts my thoughts. "Uh, what?"

"I hate this picture," she repeats. She points to it and I study it like I'm not intimately familiar with every limb and curve. "Look, they put Liz Milgrave in it. Ugh."

"What's wrong with Liz?" I have to ask because I don't really remember Liz. As far as I'm concerned, she's just garnish.

Diana frowns down at my yearbook, and I swear she looks like she might cry. "If you looked up WASP in the dictionary, Liz's picture would be there. She's so… blonde and perfect. And then there's me. I barely look _white_ next to her."

It's true, Diana does have these overwhelmingly large dark eyes and I guess she's still got a summer tan going on in the picture, but I've never thought those were bad things.

I try to tell her as much. "I always thought you looked kind of-"

" _Don't_ say exotic. I swear, Darry-"

"I wasn't gonna say that!" I protest, even though I was. "I was gonna say I always thought you looked kind of hot."

She buys the lie, settling back down. "Oh. Okay. Sorry." She still looks like she wants to cry.

"You seemed pretty confident back in high school," I venture to say. "Like you had it all together."

"Really, Mr. Football Star? You're telling me _I_ seemed like I had it all together? You were Boy of the Year, for pete's sake!"

I shrug, like it's nothing. "Who I was back then was mostly a lie, I guess." I spread my arms out. "This is the truth. _This_ is who I am."

She smiles weakly. "I like you better this way, I think."

My hands slip under her sweater, touching the smoothness of her back. "That's good to know." I clear my throat, diverting her thoughts just in case she wants to know more about all the ways I lied in high school, or my feelings for her back then. I'm not ready for that. Not yet. "D'you think everyone felt this way back then or just us?"

"Oh, everyone I'm sure. I know for a fact Paul did."

 _Fuck_. Of course she'd bring _him_ up, and I gave her the perfect opportunity to do it, didn't I, with my inane question about what people felt like in high school. Like I give a shit.

But Diana babbles on. "Paul was always trying to look like the dumb jock, but he was actually pretty smart. Like, he was interested in astronomy. And poetry. And he read Russian literature for fun."

"Why would he want to look like an idiot?" I ask, interested despite myself. Deliberately looking as stupid as Paul always came off goes against everything I believe in. But then her words sink in. "Russian literature?"

Diana goes still underneath my fingertips. "Yeah."

"Like _The Brothers' Karamazov_?" She doesn't say anything. "God dammit! I knew that wasn't really your favorite book!"

She struggles to sit up, looking at me earnestly. "But it is! I mean, it's my favorite smart people book! You didn't honestly think I was going to hand over something like _Forever Amber_ , did you? You'd have laughed at me!"

"At least it would have been honest." Christ, I know it's only a book but I feel so betrayed. Am I ever going to be able to shake the shadow of Paul Holden? "Did you even read it?"

She hesitates. "Paul read it to me one summer," she admits. "But I enjoyed it and I thought you would too. Do you like it?"

"Yes," I manage to say through clenched teeth. I can't shake the image of her and Paul in bed together. Somehow the reading feels more intimate than the other stuff I know they did. "You read to me. When it was raining. Did you get the idea from him?"

"Yeah. But don't lie and tell me you've invented everything new for me."

"I never meant any of it. Not for anyone but you."

"Do you think that makes it better or worse?"

"You're never going to forget him, are you?"

"He's always going to be my ex boyfriend. If you can't handle that-"

"I can handle it just fine," I snap. If she wanted to be with him she'd be with him, I remind myself. God knows he'd take her back in a heartbeat.

She takes my hand. "It's not because I still have feelings for him, so don't think that. But the two of you were friends, _best_ friends, before I got in the way. And I feel badly about that."

"It'll never go back to being the way it was. Neither one of us are good at losing."

"You're both so alone now. And I-"

"I'd rather have you than him, and I think that's something he'd agree with."

Diana bites her lip. "I should go."

My heart skips a beat. Not this shit again. "No, don't. This isn't a fight. If you want to talk about Paul, we'll talk about him. At least he doesn't have smoldering dark eyes and a rugged scar. I don't know how I'd compete with him then."

She rolls her eyes. "It's not that. I have to help my mother cook supper, that's all."

"Oh, okay. Good. That's good. You should do that." I help her off my bed, relief making me reckless. "Diana, I want you to be my girl again."

She presses her lips together, like she's thinking hard. "Not yet. You still have to find your brother. Once this is over, maybe then we can talk. But you've got a lot on your plate right now."

It hurts, but I try not to show it. "You're here all the time anyway. You might as well make it official."

"You're hurting right now," she explains. "You're hurting and you need someone. But once your brothers back, once all threat of legal complications are over, are you still going to want me around? Or are you going to push me away again?"

"Of course I'll want you. Of course I will."

She gives me a quick kiss. "Then show me. Once this is over."

* * *

That night I can't sleep. Between Ponyboy and Diana I've got a million thoughts running through my mind. Maybe I should just check myself into the nuthouse right next to Paul's mom, I think waspishly. Finally tired of tossing and turning, I drag my sorry ass out to the couch where I can at least stare at the phone and will my brother to call.

I must fall asleep despite myself, because the next thing I know Soda thumps me hard on the chest.

"Look at this! Look at this! He… Dally… just look!" Soda is as fired up as I've ever seen him. He thrusts something dark in front of me.

It smells strongly of mildew and I pull away. "God damn, Soda. Did you leave the wash in too long or somethin'?"

He shakes the fabric out and for the first time I see that it's part of a sweatshirt. The sleeves are missing. It looks so familiar, but it takes me just a second to place it…

"Ponyboy!" He was wearing it the night he ran away. I snatch it away from Soda. "Where'd you find it?"

"Dally's room at Buck's."

"Dally!"

Soda snorts. "You really bought his act, huh? Well the rest of us could see right through 'im. And I was right." He snatches the shirt back from me, holding it like Ponyboy is still inside of it. "I was _right_."

"I'm going to kill him," I snarl, ready to tear Dallas Winston limb from limb. "He's let us go crazy with worry, and all the while he's known where Ponyboy is? He's a dead man, I swear to God."

The violence of my response takes Soda by surprise. It also calms him down a little bit. "It's okay, Darry. I wrote him a letter."

I blink. "You wrote a letter?"

"Are you going to repeat everything I say? I wrote Ponyboy a letter. And I sent him half my check." He says this last bit in a rush, like he's expecting me to flip out about it. I don't. I'm more concerned about the letter.

"Soda, I'm pretty sure that's aiding and abetting." I groan. "They could put you away for that-"

"So what was I supposed to do? Not send him any money? What if they're hungry?"

"You could have sent the money and not the letter," I point out. "If the cops get ahold of it, you could be in serious trouble. You're old enough now they could just skip the boys' home and go right to prison."

Soda looks uneasy, but he hits his chin out and tries to look tough. I see right through it. I'm his big brother; of course I do. "Fine, I'll go to prison. But I'm not lettin' Pony suffer."

"He wouldn't be sufferin'," I can't resist pointing out. "I just said leave off the note."

"He's sufferin' without me. Us," he corrects.

"You can just say you." My voice is bitter. "He's always liked you better and I didn't exactly change that by hittin' him."

Soda grows quiet. "He needs both of us. Wherever he is, I bet he's missin' the both of us."

I snort. "That's a goddamn lie."

"It's not-"

"Just forget it." I throw myself back down on the couch. "I'm going back to sleep. I'll deal with Dally in the morning."

Soda hesitates, like he wants to say something else, but eventually he gives up. I hear him in the bathroom, and then galloping to the bedroom, and then nothing. I wonder if, like me, he's lying awake tonight and thinking that if I hadn't fucked up so bad Ponyboy would be in the bed next to him.

I can't go back to sleep after that.

* * *

I head down to Buck's the next morning. I've known Buck since Soda's rodeo days, but we've never been friends even though he's been on the peripheral of my social life for years now. He's too wild for me, a drinker, a gambler, and (if you believe the whispers) a dealer. I've told my brothers to stay away from him, not that they listen.

The neighborhood he lives in is worse than mine; the houses exist in various states of disrepair, almost as if they were built that way on purpose. Were they ever nice? Or was this side of town always intended to be a dumping ground for Tulsa's most unwanted?

My hands clench the steering wheel more tightly as I have to fight off that feeling of self pity Diana accuses me of having. I'm not here for me today, I remind myself. I'm here to have it out with Dally.

It's been a long time coming.

Anytime I've ever been to Buck's house there's been a party in full swing, so it's a little surprising when I pull up and the place is completely deserted. even Buck's trademark T-Bird is gone.

A T-Bird, cause it makes all the sense in the world to put your money into a car while you keep living in the same old shithole. I could probably finish my degree with all the money Buck blew on that car, not to mention the cash he goes through every single weekend.

"Knock it off," I mutter to myself, slamming the door of the truck. Even _I'm_ sick of my shit. "Get your head in the game, Curtis."

I stomp up the steps and pound on the door. No one answers. I knock again, a little more loudly this time.

Still no one comes.

"So help me God," I call out. "If you don't come to this door by the time I count to three I'm gonna knock it down! One-"

The door opens almost alarmingly fast.

"Heeeey," Buck says. He isn't wearing a shirt. "Curtis, right? Whaddya want?"

He's drunk. My lip curls in disgust. It's the only way to keep the longing at bay. God, how long has it been since I had a drink? Not since I made that stupid promise to Diana. Of course, she promised things too and she's not exactly keeping her word.

Buck is still waiting for me to speak. "Where's Dally?" I ask, getting right to the point. Anything so I don't have to stand here and smell the liquor that emanates from his body.

"Dunno. Ain't here." Buck looks at me, as simple minded as a child. I guess you'd have to be to dig Hank Williams as much as he does. "You wanna drink?"

I hesitate. I do. I don't. But I do. I really, really do.

 _Promise_ , warbles the shade of my girlfriend. _Promise me_. I shove all thought of her away. If there's one thing I know after a lifetime of watching broken promises play out in front of me it's that I can't make choices based on what someone else wants for me. I have to want it.

So what do I want right now?

"No." I stomp back towards my truck. I don't even look back at him as I call out, "tell Dally I'm looking for him."

* * *

I drive.

Where am I going? There's so many places I want to go now.

My hands shake.

I could go home, see if my Daddy left anymore moonshine lying around. I haven't been inside my parents' room since they died. I'm sure he had some tucked away.

I could go see Diana. She's sweetness itself when I'm in need, but I can't face her right now.

I could go see Paul. Not to beat him up or anything, but there's a very real part of me that misses his friendship. It's a small part, hardly worth mentioning at all… except there's no better guy for talking you off a ledge and getting your mind off yourself. But who am I kidding? That ship sailed the second I decided to fuck his girlfriend, and I can't say I blame him.

I make a sudden left turn and have a moment of complete panic. Where am I? The unfamiliar stretch of road winds it way through a section of Tulsa I don't know too well. But as the panic subsides my brain starts to play catch up. The buildings begin to look almost recognizable. I've been here before, a very long time ago.

This is the way to the cemetery where we buried my parents.

"Oh, hell." I swear out loud.

Here I am, my Dad's virtual twin, driving his truck and fighting his battles, and now I'm on my way to see where we laid him to… what, rest?

Who's resting?

It feels like he's with me more in death than he ever was in life.

I don't turn around.

* * *

One hundred and fifty-nine footsteps. That's how far it is from the road to my parents' graves.

It's stupid, counting the footsteps like I'm a goddamn _child_ , but it distracts me from the fact that underneath this spot my parents are rotting away. The manicured lawns, the pretty headstone I'm _still_ paying for, the flowers that are only just beginning to brown… they're all distractions from the reality of death.

Here above is the reality of death. Bills to pay, and rotting flesh. Broken dreams and broken promises. Bob Sheldon, barely out of childhood, bleeding to death in a park. My brother, missing.

"I _hate_ you!" The words pour from me, and once they start I can't stop them. " _Both_ of you! Why couldn't you just stay sober, huh? Why'd you'd get in the car with him? Why the hell did _any_ of this have to happen? You could've stopped this! Either one of you!"

 _I should cry,_ I think, finishing my outburst. I didn't cry at the funeral. This feels like a moment to finally give way.

I wait.

Nothing happens.

Slightly deflated, I shove my fists in my pockets. "I guess I don't really hate you," I say grudgingly. "Sorry."

Only then do I think to look around, worried suddenly that someone has seen me talking to my dead parents like some sort of dummy. It's a relief for once to realize I'm completely alone.

I stare down at the headstones, reading their names over and over again. Darrel and Laura Curtis. Laura and Darrel. Darrel Curtis, Sr. Darrel the original. Darrel, the selfish alcoholic who killed his wife.

My throat tightens. _Damn._

"I just want you to know I'm not gonna be you." I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood. I guess I never really wanted to cry. "We might look alike, we might have the same name for Christ's sake, but I ain't gonna be you. The lies, the girls, the drinkin'... I'm not gonna let 'em ruin me like they ruined you.

"And Mom-" I break off. It's harder to talk to her for some reason. "I'm not gonna be you, either. You were a great Mom, but you let him get away with too much. You knew what he was. You should have protected yourself."

I stare up at the sky, blinking rapidly. The sun is shining, the clouds are nice and fluffy. It's a beautiful day. I mean, not for me _personally_ , but just in general… you couldn't ask for better weather.

"I guess what I'm saying is that I'm just gonna be myself. Whoever that is." Once more I face my parents. "And I'm going to do right by Soda and Pony. Maybe better than y'all could've done. Maybe."

 _Well you haven't exactly done so good so far, have you Junior?_ I hear my dad's voice like he's standing right next to me. Far from being insulting, it makes me laugh.

"Okay, from here on out. And unlike you, I'm gonna keep my promises." I think hard. I want to get it all out now. I'm not making this a habit every six months. "I'm not gonna drink. I'm not gonna gamble away the house payment. And I'll get us out of here, one way or another. College or no college."

When I can't think of anything else to say, I stand up. I dust my pants off. I get back into my truck.

I don't feel my better, but so don't feel any worse either.

Right now I don't think I could ask for anything more.

* * *

When I get back home, Soda is on the lawn. Before I turn off the engine Soda's running up.

 _Ponyboy_. My entire body goes numb. _No_ , I think. _No! I was gonna do better, I was gonna figure it out, I was gonna-_

Soda yanks the passenger side door open. "It's Ponyboy-"

"Oh, God." I can't. Not again. Not this again.

"-he's at the hospital-"

"Oh, _God._ "

Soda grins, and it finally hits me that maybe this isn't bad news. "No. Oh no, Darry. He's fine. He ran into a burning building and got a little singed, but he's gonna be fine. He's at the hospital right now, he's gonna be waiting for us!"

Soda is talking so fast that I can barely understand him. But when I do… "it's over," I breathe. I can barely believe it. And in that moment of relief I forget to worry about Dally or Johnny. "It's over."

"It's over." Soda nods. His face is wet with tears. _Happy_ tears.

At long last my little brother is coming home.


	33. Chapter 33

_Someone is going to get hurt tonight._

I stretch my hand out, hoping that the sunlight playing across my fingers will have a sanitizing effect on my soul, but it doesn't work. I feel as sick and desolate as I did when I first woke up.

 _Someone is going to get hurt_.

I pull the covers over my head. The sudden darkness doesn't make me feel any better and after a second I kick them to the floor. Someone is going to get hurt tonight.

No, not someone.

Paul.

Paul is going to get hurt tonight.

I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting a wave of nausea. I've seen Darry and met his friends. They're eager for this fight: Even if they lose, they're going to put up a fight. And Paul… my poor, easygoing, blue-eyed boy is no match for the type of hatred that he'll be up against tonight.

And the worst part, the very _worst_ part… he wouldn't even be going if I hadn't roped him into it.

I rub my eyes. I could cry. I can feel the prickle behind my lids, the lump starting in my throat. I want nothing more than to break down right now and weep for the trouble I've caused.

Instead I grit my teeth. Now is not the time for crying.

Now is the time to _do_ something.

There must be something wrong with me, I decide, pulling my mom's keys out of her purse before she can wake up to stop me. I'm as crazy as a loon.

At least I'm headed to the right place, I decide. If anyone knows crazy, it's the Holdens.

* * *

When I get to the Holdens, I don't know how to get to Paul without waking everyone up. After a minute of serious consideration, I take a leaf out of his book. I find a small rock and toss it gently at his window. _If only he didn't live on the second floor,_ I think. The first rock does nothing. I choose a second rock, a little larger this time, and toss that one up next.

It works.

Paul sticks his head out the window, shielding his eyes from the bright morning sun. "Diana? What are you doing?"

I wave. "I wanted to see what it's like on the _other_ side of the window."

"Are you going to climb up here, then?"

"Only if you let down your hair, Rapunzel."

He grins. "I'll come down and get you."

A few seconds later the door opens and I trot across the lawn towards him. "You know, a trellis would really improve your yard."

"I'll let my new mommy know."

I slide past him and into the Holden's foyer. "It's nice of her to keep you around and not try to poison you with an apple, or send you off to live with dwarves."

"Especially since we all know that I'm the fairest of them all." He yawns. "What're you doing here, babe?"

"Darry's brother came home."

The news elicits a half-smile from Paul. "I'm glad to hear it."

"They're heroes now. They saved a bunch of kids from a fire and it got written up in the paper and everything."

"And you came by just to tell me about it?"

"Noo." I bite my lip, hesitating over what I'm about to say. "Maybe we should go up to your bedroom."

A slow smile spreads across his face. "Am I still dreaming?"

"Oh, stop. I just want to talk to you privately. It's about tonight."

The smile disappears from his face almost instantly. "Oh, that."

"Yeah, _that_. We need to talk."

He shrugs. "I can't imagine why, but if you're begging me to take you to my room, I won't tell you no."

I follow him up the stairs just like I've done so many times before. For the first time it registers that he's wearing the shirt that used to be mine, the shirt I last saw when Darry pulled it off of me and said he was going to take it back to Paul. I shouldn't be surprised, but I am.

Another surprise waits for me inside Paul's room. I gasp upon entering. "Paul, what happened?"

Paul's room, that paeon to football and high school, is completely empty. Even the picture of his brother Tommy is gone. All that remains are four stark white walls and a bed tucked into the corner.

For a second I can't breathe. Everything is changing. Even the things I thought never would.

Paul seems unconcerned. He shrugs, shutting the door behind him. After a second he turns the lock. "I took it all down."

I wait for more of an explanation, but none comes. "Are you moving?" I probe.

He shrugs again. "What do you want to talk about?"

I can't remember. The barrenness of the room has left me completely flummoxed. I thought he'd always love football. I thought of all the things I could count on in the world, the sun rising in the east and Paul Holden being obsessed with football were two of them. It seems impossible to believe that he could have changed so much.

And then, because I am nothing if not calm and dignified, I burst into tears and throw myself onto his bed sobbing.

"Well, don't cry over it!" Paul's voice takes on a note of alarm. "I didn't throw anything away. Give me five minutes and I'll hang it all back up."

His offer makes me cry harder. "It's not just that," I manage to say between sobs. "It's everything. Tonight-"

"-has nothing to do with you."

"It has _everything_ to do with me," I counter. "If it weren't for me you wouldn't even be involved! You can't go tonight! You can't!"

He sits down next to me on the bed and rubs my back. "I already told everyone I'd be there. I can't back out now. It'd look weak. You understand that, right?"

"No." My voice is muffled as I bury it into his pillow. "No, I don't understand. You're going to get hurt-"

The hand on my back stops its circular motion. "Maybe I'll surprise you and hurt someone else for a change."

I roll over and face him. "Is that what you want? To hurt someone else?"

"I think it's mildly better than being beat to death, yes."

"You don't have a shot," I warn him. "The guys Darry is bringing with him, they're not playing around. They want to win. It's a matter of _survival_ for them."

"I see why you gave up cheerleading. You've really lost the knack for it." He pulls his hand away. "Did you have this conversation with Darrel or am I the only one you think can't defend himself?"

I don't answer.

"Boy, you really know how to go for a guy's jugular, don't you, babe?"

"I didn't mean-"

"Go home, Diana."

"But-"

"Go _home_."

I swallow. But before I can argue, there's a tentative knock at the door. Paul freezes. I struggle to sit up.

"Paul?" I recognize the soft voice of the second Mrs. Holden. "Open this door. Now."

"For the love of-" Paul breaks off, muscle in his jaw working overtime as he stomps over to the bedroom door. "What?"

Mrs. Holden's arms are crossed. She's wearing a very pretty, rather diaphanous silk nightdress with a silk robe tied loosely around her waist. Even barely awake she's beautiful.

When I woke up I had to wipe the drool off my chin and brush the knots out of my hair, but I guess it isn't a contest.

"I thought I heard voices."

"Careful," Paul warns. "That's what got my mom a one way ticket to Eastern State."

Jenny's hand flutters to her chest. "Paul, I just… you can't have girls up here. It's not proper."

"Would it be more _proper_ if one of us got married first? or does adultery have a different set of rules?"

Jenny's face is as red as her hair, but I think more highly of her that she doesn't let Paul goad her into fighting. "You and Diana need to come downstairs. You can't act like this-"

Paul slams the door in her face.

"What?" He asks sullenly as he turns around and sees the shocked expression on my face. "She's not my mother, she can't tell me what to do-"

"I know, I know," I soothe, because if I'm picking sides then I'm on Paul's. "She has no right. Do you still want me to leave?"

He flings himself down on the bed beside me, scowling. "Of course not. She thinks we're having sex in here. Wait a half hour at _least._ "

"I've been thinking more about what you said," I blurt out suddenly. "About leaving."

He looks over at me, eyebrow raised. "Yeah?"

"I told my Dad I want to go stay with my grandma in Chicago until next semester. It's not that big of a change," I rush to add, in case he thinks _I_ think I'm really doing something wild. I know I'm not. "But it isn't here."

"And he said?"

"He said he'd think about it." I swallow, remembering the way my dad hadn't even looked up from his paper. And just when so had thought we were finally getting somewhere. "He knows I'm trapped. I don't have a loophole like Miriam does. If I want to go back to college, I have to move back home or live on campus."

"We could run off together. To Mexico. Like we used to talk about doing."

I snort. "We were daydreaming, even then."

"I know." He doesn't look at me, but I see the dimple in his cheek appear as he smiles. "But it's a lot less pressure on me now that I know poverty turns you on."

I hit him with a pillow. And then, before he can recover, I hit him with the truth.

"You know tonight isn't going to end the way you want it to. You're not stupid, you _have_ to know that. So I'm asking you, _please_ don't go. _Please_." My voice cracks at the end, and for a second I think about hiding the fact that I'm crying again. But I don't.

Paul can't stand when I cry.

"Oh, good grief," he mutters. "Will you stop crying if I promise not to go?"

I nod.

"Alright, then." He looks away. His voice is strange, though I know I've heard the tone before. "I won't go."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Relief makes me forget myself and I roll over to wrap my arms around him.

He still won't look at me. "Don't mention it."

* * *

 _He's lying._

I'm halfway home before this occurs to me, trusting idiot that I am. That tone of voice that I couldn't place… that was Paul's _lying_ voice.

 _She's just a friend._

 _No, I don't know her that well._

 _You must be imagining things, babe._

I guess it's no surprise that he lied; the only thing that's surprising is that I didn't see it coming.

I pull over, too overcome with anger and frustration to keep driving. "God _damn_ it!" I swear, hitting the steering wheel. And then, just because I can, I say the worst word I can think of: "FUCK!"

Swearing _does_ make me feel better. I can see why men do it all the time.

I think fast. There has to be something I can still do.

If Paul won't cooperate with my efforts to save him, maybe there's someone else who will.

* * *

The day is cool but Darry is already sweating. It runs down his face and soaks his shirt almost clean through: It's one of the reasons, I tell myself, that he doesn't give me a hug as he comes down the roof and lumbers over to me.

"Hi," I say. He crosses his arms, not saying anything at all. "Your brother told me where you were. Of course, I had to wait in line to be able to talk with him. I think every girl in town is down at the DX trying to become your sister-in-law."

"I'm working," he says gruffly. "I don't really have time for social calls right now."

"I know. I just… I have to ask you something. I need a favor." He raises his eyebrows. "Tonight, the rumble-"

"Oh, jeeze, Diana," he runs a hand through his damp hair, looking half ashamed. "That's got nothin' to do with you."

 _Why does everyone keep telling me that_? I wonder. Like I don't care about the people involved. Like I don't know that things could go wrong tonight. Like I'm not going to be worrying all night about things I have no control over.

"It's not about me. It's about Paul."

He doesn't even look surprised. Just tired. "What about him?"

If only there were a way to convey what I wanted _without_ using words. I open my mouth, close it, then frown. The truth is, I'm not exactly sure what I want from him.

"The only reason Paul is involved is because of me," I say slowly. "And if he gets hurt tonight it'll be my fault."

It's a big house that Darry is working on, so there's lots of guys around: A few of them are eyeing me up and down, but I hardly notice until Darry scowls and moves me away from them.

"I'm sorry. I know you're at work. I'm just so scared-"

"For Paul," he says bitterly. "You're scared for _Paul_."

My eyes bulge. "Darry, who could hurt _you_?"

He looks a little taken aback, but then pleased, though he tries to hide it. "I guess anyone could."

"Do you honestly think you're going to get hurt tonight?"

He manages to look grave and serious for approximately five seconds, but then the old cockiness breaks through and he grins. He doesn't think for a second that anything bad will happen tonight. Not to him, anyway.

"And do you think there's a chance that Paul will make it through tonight unscathed?"

His smile vanishes. "Alright, Diana. I see your point. It just doesn't make me happy that you're still thinkin' about him."

"You'll have to take him."

He blinks. "Uh, what?"

"Anyone else will tear him apart just because he's another Soc. You'll take it easy on him."

"I will?" Darry asks coolly. "I've got my own axe to grind, in case you don't remember, though you probably _should_ -"

"Darry-"

"Fine." He scowls. "Jesus, I can't believe you drove all the way down here to ask me to beat up your ex-boyfriend. I want to be happy about that but I'm _not_."

"I'm sorry." I frown, tears pricking my eyelids. I try not to let them fall; unlike Paul, Darry is unaffected by tears. "I just don't know any other way to be than this."

"It's fine," he says flatly. "Don't worry about it."

"Your picture was in the paper this morning," I say suddenly. The angry face he was making as the photographer snapped his picture very much resembles the one he's making now. "I'm… I'm happy your brother is home."

And even happier that he thought to save some kids first. You just can't buy that kind of good PR.

I don't say that.

Darry shifts uncomfortably. "I shoulda called you yesterday and told you myself. I just-"

"It's okay. I'm sure I was the last thing on your mind."

"Not like that! I just-"

"It's okay. Really. I didn't mean it the way it came out." I sigh. "I talk before I think. You should know that by now."

"I do." he nods solemnly before cracking a small (if weary) grin. "You should probably go before someone cracks their skull open trying to look at you."

"If they fall off the roof trying to look at me that's hardly _my_ fault!" I insist with a sniff.

"I guess I should've specified that I'd be doin' the craking."

I giggle, half amused, half relieved. "Alright. I'm going. _Thank_ you."

He shrugs. "Don't thank me. I'm not gonna go _that_ easy on him."

But he will. I know he will. For me, if not for the friendship they used to share.

And unlike Paul, I know Darry isn't lying to me.

* * *

By prior arrangement I'm spending the evening of the rumble with Lucy. Before I drive over to Lucy and Teddy's, I drive by Paul's house. As I expected, his car isn't in the driveway.

I knew he was lying, but it still hurts.

* * *

Lucy, Teddy, and I make a tense trio that night. Lucy and Teddy are still reeling from everything that has happened in their personal lives, and of course I'm concerned more about the rumble than anything else. Teddy sets up the card table so we can play gin, but none of us can keep our heads in the game.

"I quit," Lucy declares, throwing her cards down on the table. "I can't even _think_."

Teddy doesn't argue. He slams his cards down on the poor table, making it wobble dangerously. "I'm going out," he says. "I'll bring back a pizza."

"Pizza makes me sick, Teddy! You _know_ I can't stand it-"

"Then don't eat any!"

"It's the smell! If you bring a pizza home the whole place will smell and it'll make me sick!"

Teddy's only answer is the slamming of the door. The silence afterwards is _deafening_.

I feel the urge to say something. "So, um, how's married life?"

Lucy turns to me. "Do you ever get the feeling you've made a terrible, terrible mistake?"

"All the time, actually-"

"He's awful. Just _awful._ Did you see my engagement ring?" She brandishes it like a weapon, nearly hitting me in the process. "You can barely even tell it's a diamond. Look how little it is!"

"It looks big enough to me," I venture to say. "But I guess I'm no expert-"

"And there's absolutely no money. Between the rent, two cars, and the country club memberships we can barely afford _anything_." Lucy's lip curls. "And he wants to kick Cal out just because we've got a baby on the way-"

"Cal is an awful human being," I interject. "You have no idea what he's capable of."

Lucy snorts. "You make him sound like a criminal mastermind."

"Criminal, yes. Mastermind, no." I tell her briefly what happened to my car, expecting her to be as horrified as I am, but when I finish she looks decidedly unimpressed.

"So you don't have any proof it was Cal?" She asks.

"Well, no." I can't use his history with Darry as proof, since Lucy doesn't know he exists. "But I think it was him."

Lucy sniffs indignantly. "I think you've been spending too much time with Darrel Curtis. He's always had it in for poor Cal-"

"Cal is not an innocent victim-"

"Name one thing he's done to Darry."

I shift. I can't. Not without betraying Darry. "He's always thrown it in Darry's face that Darry isn't from the West Side."

"Well that's a fact. Darry _isn't_ from our side of town-"

"Neither am I!"

"-and frankly he shouldn't be treated like he is. Really, Diana. Darrel is hardly much to brag about these days."

"At least he dropped out and wasn't asked to leave like _some_ people."

Lucy flushes at the mention of Cal's shortcomings, but then she shrugs. "Well, it's hardly worth fighting about. The only time I see you anymore is when you're complaining about one of your boyfriends. Let's not spend this boyfriend-free time arguing."

What she says has a kernel of undeniable truth to it since I _have_ been a pretty poor friend lately, so I don't make a snide remark. Instead I pick up the cards and start to shuffle them.

"Do you want to play Go Fish instead?"

* * *

An hour passes of just Lucy and me playing a stupid card game neither one of us are very interested in, and then several things happen all at once.

Teddy returns, pizza in hand.

"I told you!" Lucy shrieks, hand shooting m up to cover her mouth. "Didn't I _tell_ you-"

Her diatribe ends abruptly as the apartment door opens with a loud _bang_ : Cal has returned from the rumble, bruised and bleeding. To my surprise he's got a surprisingly spry looking Paul trailing behind him.

"We lost," Paul informs us shortly. "Got our asses handed to us, actually-"

"They cheated. One of those greasy bastards-"

"Language, Gregory!" That comes from Teddy, who is gnawing on a slice of pizza oblivious to his wife's distress.

"He had a beer bottle! We agreed no weapons, didn't we? We agreed!" He balls his fist up and looks like he might sink it into the wall, but then he catches sight of me. "What the hell is _she_ doing here?"

" _She_ is my friend and she has every right to be here!" Lucy snarls.

"She's a traitor," Cal argues. I watch stupidly as he walks towards me. "She's a fucking kike who thinks she's better than she is just because she spent four years riding Holden's dick. But now she's shown us what a whore she _really_ is-"

"Knock it off," Paul says, making a move towards Cal and me.

But I'm not concerned. I toss my hair behind my shoulder and eye the piece of shit currently trailing a mixture of blood and mud all over Lucy's carpet and I am not afraid. "Cal," I say, "you can go fuck yourself."

And that's when he yanks me up by my hair and starts hitting me.

No one has ever hit me before. Oh, sure, when I was a kid, my dad spanked me a couple of times and once he slapped me when I got particularly mouthy with my mother during my teenage years. But he wasn't trying to hurt me.

Cal, I think, might actually be trying to kill me.

Someone is screaming.

And Cal… Cal is using one hand to hold onto my hair like a handle while the other one drives into my body with a fury that I've never felt before. I slap and kick and squirm, but it's no use. And so I end up just trying to shield my face as he hits me.

He won't stop _hitting_ me.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, it's over. He lets me go. I stumble to the floor. And when I look up, still bizarrely detached from this reality, I see why; Paul must have pulled him off of me, because it's his fists that are now making mincemeat of Cal's face.

And the only thing I can think, even as the salty taste of blood fills my mouth, is that I guess Paul can fight after all.


	34. Chapter 34

Johnny is dead.

I almost can't believe it, but before I can ask any questions ( _are you sure?_ I want to ask my over dramatic youngest brother- even now I have to double check him) the phone rings. Dallas, hotheaded Dallas, needs a place to hide after robbing a convenience store.

 _Are you sure?_ I want to ask him, too, but already the night is spiraling out of my control, and our gang is charging into the night before I can suggest an alternate plan.

And then there's a streetlight, gunshots ringing out, the smell of blood and gunpowder mingling together, and just like that Dally is dead, too.

Behind me, Ponyboy collapses.

I kind of wish I'd thought of doing it first.

* * *

The hospital is world's away from the dirty street where Dally was just murdered. It's quieter, too, and has that antiseptic smell I used to hate. Now it does wonders for getting the scent of death out of my nostrils.

Somewhere in this building I guess Johnny's corpse is being cleaned and prepared for burial, but I try not to think of that.

Soda and I don't talk as we sit next to Ponyboy's unconscious body. What's to say? _Gosh, isn't it crazy that our friends keep dying? Here's hoping our kid brother isn't next!_

We can't say that. So not talking is best.

Soda's hands shake. I reach out a hand to still them, and Soda clings to me. So that's how we sit, silent and clinging to each other. And that's how we'd probably go on forever if a nurse didn't come in and tell us that visiting hours are over and one of us will have to leave.

Soda rips his hand away, no longer viewing me as a support. I've become the enemy, the thing he has to get rid of so that he can stay beside Ponyboy. Their bond is as strong as ever, and, as usual, I'm the odd man out.

I hold up my hands, a gesture of total surrender: There's no more fight left inside me. "You can stay. He doesn't even like me."

Soda opens his mouth to argue, but I'm already standing up to leave.

And here's the truth, the unvarnished truth… I don't want to stay.

So I run away.

I guess that's something else they can hold against me at the custody hearing.

* * *

" _You_."

Paul Holden's voice cuts across my consciousness as I stumble back through the emergency room. I stop, fall backwards a bit, and stare. Dried blood clings to his bottom lip, and he's got his last two fingers taped together.

He doesn't look happy to see me.

For a second he looks furious, like he might start wailing on me right here at the hospital, but then something like sympathy flickers across his face and he asks, "What's wrong?"

"The hell do you care?" I ask. My voice is too loud. A couple of old women waiting to be seen turn to look at me.

I know what I must look like. Bloody. Dirty. A _hood_.

For once in my life I don't care.

Paul stiffens. "I don't," he sneers.

"Fine." I study his bandaged fingers, feeling a sick sense of pleasure as I look at it. It's his right hand. "I guess you're off the team now, too. What a shame."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I actually quit the team a few weeks ago." He looks like he might laugh. "And you didn't do this, so don't congratulate yourself too much."

"What'd you quit the team for?"

"I dropped out, too." His mouth twitches, like he's trying not to smile. "I guess you could say I'm on the Darrel Curtis life track."

"Dumb ass."

"That's exactly what my dad said."

"You know, the only reason I took it easy on you tonight was because Diana asked me to," I taunt. "She knows I coulda killed you if I wanted to."

Paul grins. _I'll never understand him_ , I think. Diana thinks he's weak. That's nothing to smile about.

"I know she did. I figured that out about the time I fell down in the mud and you just… leapt over me." His smile suddenly looks a whole lot less friendly. "So does she keep your balls in her purse now, or did she loan 'em back to you for the night?"

I clench my fists. "I swear to God, Holden-"

He holds his hands up. "It was a joke, _Curtis_. Jesus, calm down. Why are you so jumpy, anyway? You've won. You beat the hell out of me, you get to fuck my girlfriend-"

" _My_ girlfriend-"

He rolls his eyes. "You're fucking the girl I love, what else do you want? My watch? My car?"

"I just want you to go away! Christ, you're always fucking _around_!' The old ladies are staring again, but I don't give a shit. Two guys, two good friends of mine, are dead tonight while this piece of shit walks around untouchable. "She can't get over you and I can't _make_ her! I want you to leave and I want you to never come back."

"Yeah, well, wish granted."

"Wish granted? What the _fuck_ does that mean?"

"It means you got your wish," he says slowly, like I'm a goddamn child. When I still don't get it, he sighs deeply. "I'm off to basic training in a couple of weeks."

"Basic training? Training for _what_?"

He groans. "And they made _you_ boy of the year. I joined the army, genius."

A loud gasp makes me jump and turn. And there's Diana behind me, and why is she here? I wonder. _And what the hell happened to her face_?

She doesn't look at me. All she can see, all she can _ever_ see, is Paul.

She presses one hand to her mouth, aghast. "The army?"

Xx

We sit in my truck. Paul sucks on a cigarette, the smoke of it filling my car.

I didn't know he smoked.

"That could have gone better," he says. I can still make out the imprint of Diana's hand on his cheek.

I shrug. "You shouldn't have grabbed her."

He winces. "Yeah. Bad move. But, Jesus, if she'd just give me a second to explain…" he trails off.

It's the same thing he said after Diana caught him with Miriam.

"Fuck it. Maybe I'll just get her a bell, that way she can't sneak up on me anymore."

"Yeah? You gonna hear it all the way in Vietnam?"

"I don't know, maybe. Do you think she'll go to the Viet Cong for me? Plead my case with them?" His voice gets real high pitched as he tries to mimic Diana's. " _Really, he's so stupid, he can barely put on his pants in the morning. Don't shoot at him, he's harmless._ "

For the first time all night, I smile. "Dunno, maybe."

He stabs out his cigarette in the ashtray and then slams his head back into the seat. "Christ! Why am I so stupid?"

I don't say anything. Really, the only reason I'm even hanging out with him right now is because I've lost two friends tonight already; if fate has it out for me, maybe it'll take Paul Holden and not my little brother.

"It's stupid, really. She was my first, and I kept thinking 'what if there's something better out there? What if I'm missing out?' And so I cheated on her. And that made it easy to do it again. And then I figured I'd already done it, so what did it matter?"

"Knock it off, this ain't confession."

" _Ain't_ ," he mocks. "And to think, everyone used to talk about you like you were so much smarter than the rest of us. Not so great now, are you?"

"Still better than you."

He shudders and looks down. "That's the truth. That's the goddamn truth."

I don't know what to say to that, so I ignore him. I want to snatch one of those cigarettes out of his pocket and start puffing away. What I _really_ want is a drink, but I'm not so far gone that I'll leave the hospital while my kid brother lies unconscious in some sterile room, so I'll settle for a cigarette.

Paul Holden just won't quit. "She'd have taken me back if it weren't for you. I thought she'd forgive me anything, but I didn't count on _you._ "

Ah, to hell with it. I yank the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He hands over a lighter, and after a brief fumble with the flame I'm puffing away.

"I'm not sorry," I tell him. "About anything."

"I didn't figure you would be." He lights another cigarette of his own. "When did it start?"

"A few weeks before we went skiing. Nailed her on her couch."

"Not the sex, retard." He glares at me as he blows out a puff of smoke. "The liking her. You're not just doing this to spite me, are you?"

 _He looks almost like Dallas_ , I think, getting goosebumps. Maybe it's the blonde hair.

Maybe it's the hating me.

"I liked her before you even started dating her," I confess.

"I know you did. That's why I went after her so hard in the beginning. She liked you, too, I think. But you didn't get to have _everything_."

I stare at his smug, self-satisfied face, and I feel like clocking him. "What did I have, Paul? What the hell else did I have that you wanted?"

"You were quarterback, weren't you? Everyone respected you-"

"Oh, please. Plenty of people liked you-"

"Respect. I said they _respected_ you. And your parents _adored_ you-"

"My parents? My dad was an alcoholic who cheated on my mom every single time he got a chance, and my mom was an enabler who stuck her head in the sand rather than deal with the real world. Yeah, I was so lucky, wasn't I?"

"They were there, weren't they? Every single game. And they always looked so proud of you. Your dad would slap you on the back and call you a chip off the old block." He sounds less angry, more wistful now. "How many games were _my_ parents at?"

I shrug. I never paid attention.

"None, that's how many. Not once in three years did they show up to a single game."

"You want me to feel sorry for you? I don't. Sorry your parents didn't love you, but at least you never had to worry about where your next meal was gonna come from."

He breathes in shakily. "Fair enough, I guess. Fair enough."

We fall silent. Smoke fills the car, and I take a second to crank the window down. God knows I am _never_ gonna get the stench of these cigarettes out.

"Diana's face," it finally occurs to me to ask. "What happened to it?"

" _Cal_ happened to it. He laid into her tonight when we got back from the rumble." He holds us his own hand, the bandage stark white in the darkness. "Like I said, you didn't do this."

 _I should care about this,_ I think. I should be livid. I should want to chase Cal down and strangle him with his own entrails. But all I manage to say is a slight, "oh."

Paul glances at me. "Wow, you care about her a lot, don't you?"

"Two of my friends died tonight. Who knows if my brother's gonna make it through the night." Bile rises in my throat as I share this almost unthinkable truth. "I don't have anything left over for her. Not tonight."

I expect to get an earful from Paul. I probably deserve it, too: I'm trying so hard, but I just keep failing everyone. It's like there isn't enough of me to go around.

He isn't listening. Instead he's leaning over to scoop something up off of my floorboard. "Hey, this is mine!"

He holds up Diana's copy of _The Brothers Karamazov._ Well, what I _thought_ was Diana's copy. How it got into my car, well, that I don't know.

"You can have it back."

Paul thumbs through it. "Yeah, I'm sure I'll really need it in Vietnam. Are you reading it?"

I shrug. All I can picture now, whenever I pick it up, is Paul and Diana in bed together, so _no_ , I'm not reading it. I haven't touched it since I found out.

"You should. It's… it's good."

"I read… part of it. Diana said it was her favorite book-"

"Did she?"

My hand curls into a fist without me thinking much about it. Paul is just… everything I hate tonight. I crush my cigarette into the ashtray, wishing it was his smug face I was crushing instead. "I didn't know you shared it with her. If I had, I never would have started reading it."

Paul smirks. "I also slept with her, you know. In case you want to quit doing that, too."

 _I have_. But that wasn't really my choice, was it?

I rub my forehead. After everything that's happened tonight, I don't know why I thought letting Paul sit in my truck would do anything other than piss me off.

"Just get out," I start to say, but the words get stuck in my throat.

My head comes down, hard, onto the steering wheel. This night, this godforsaken night. I just want it to end. _I just want everything to end_.

"You know what my favorite part is?" I don't answer. I barely listen. It seems ridiculous to me that he's still talking about books right now. "It's the part about the sticky leaves."

I slide my eyes over to him. "Sticky leaves. Right."

"'Though I may not believe in the order of the universe, yet I love the sticky little leaves as they open in spring,'" Paul quotes, then shrugs, like he's almost embarrassed. "I don't know, man. I liked it when I read it. Even when things don't make sense, there are always the little things to look forward to. That's what it meant to me anyway."

"Right." I close my eyes. "Right."

"You should read it," he urges. "If Diana wanted you to read it, she must have thought you'd get something out of it."

"I don't know. I don't- I should have just left her alone. She was better off with you."

"Maybe."

"I'll back off. You can have her back."

"I can have her- do you even hear yourself? She's a person, Darrel. An actual _person_ , and if she wants to be with me, she'll be with me. If she wants to be with you, she'll be with you." He laughs, humorlessly. "God, for someone who got so much ass in school you really are clueless about women, aren't you?"

"I'm clueless about everything," I say flatly. "Diana, my brothers… I've screwed all of it up. So you don't have to be jealous of me anymore. My life is in shambles. Everything I wanted has turned to shit."

"Oh, poor you. Can you stop feeling sorry for yourself for five minutes?" Paul frowns at me. "Your friends are dead. I'm sorry about it-"

"No, you're not. You didn't even know them-"

"Anyone willing to run into a burning building to save a bunch of kids can't be all that bad," he argues. "And besides? Who knows how any of us would turn out under similar circumstances. You think money could have solved all your problems, and maybe it would have, but you could have just as easily been another Bob Sheldon."

"That kid I jumped-"

"Just be glad he didn't have a knife."

"I wish he had," I confess miserably. "Sometimes I wish to God he had."

Paul doesn't say anything for the longest time. "Money doesn't help the self-loathing. Trust me. Sure, maybe money might distract you for an extra five minutes, but it's never very long."

"Does joining the army help?"

"I'll let you know." He stares out the window. "What happened back then, you shouldn't let it define you. I'm not saying it was right, of course it wasn't, but you're not the same dumb kid you were back then."

"You're kiddin', right? I went to a rumble tonight, in case you forgot."

"Yeah, but you weren't just looking to beat up on somebody because you could. Stakes were high. Now you don't have to worry about your kid brother getting jumped just because he's walking down the street. That's worth fighting for, right? You'd do it again tomorrow, wouldn't you?"

I nod.

"And the kid back in school, the greaser. You'd leave him alone if you could, right?"

I nod again.

"There you go."

It's almost the exact point Diana made on the night Johnny was jumped. It seems like ages ago now.

Johnny.

My stomach lurches.

Johnny is _dead_ now. And what kind of life did he ever have? What kind of chance did he ever have for a better one?

Maybe money doesn't make everything better, but it at least gives you some hope that things can get better. I look over at Paul, heading for the army and, probably, Vietnam.

Maybe not.

I run my hand through my hair. I'm hot, tired, and I can't think straight. It's so hot in this car.

Paul finishes his cigarette and then rolls down the window on his side of the car. It helps. A little.

"Where d'you think it all went wrong?" That's how far I've sunk, begging Paul Holden for a shred of wisdom like he's the fucking oracle at Delphi. "It seemed so easy back in high school. Hell, even that first year at college…"

"Who knows?" Paul gives me his crooked smile. "Maybe we just got tired of pretending."

I laugh. Tired of pretending. I am _so_ tired of pretending. But I've got to keep it up, don't I? I've got to keep up the illusion that I know what I'm doing. I've got to do it for the state, for my brothers, for the _newspapers_ … so I guess I've just exchanged one set of lies for another.

"I told Diana she ought to leave," Paul says suddenly.

I pick my head up off the steering wheel, no longer quite so introspective. "You did? Why? You get tired of trying to win her back so now you're gonna take her away from me another way?"

"It's for her own good," Paul snaps, our brief camaraderie gone.

"Funny how you only realize that once you're headin' out of town yourself."

He doesn't deny it. "I want her to be happy. This city sucks the soul out of everyone."

I can't deny it. "So is she leaving?"

"She mentioned Chicago. It's where her dad's from. She still has family there."

I didn't know that. "Good for her," I manage to say. Maybe it'll hurt later. I don't know. All I know is that whatever bond she and Paul have will never exist between the two of us, and maybe that'll hurt later, too.

"I never slept with her. I mean, not after she started dating you. What I said that day… I lied. It's stupid, hell, even when I was saying it I knew it was stupid, but I wanted to do _something_."

Who knows better than me how jealousy can eat away at you? "I know."

"Okay." Paul sighs again, and looks out the window. "Guess I'd better get home. My dad might be _mildly_ interested in my absence."

"Yeah. Hey, Paul?"

He turns. "Well, don't tell me you miss me already."

"Can you still join the army with your fingers-"

"Why?" He asks with a grin. "Worried I might not be out of your hair after all?" He shakes his bandaged fingers. "Nah, it's just a small fracture. It shouldn't matter too much."

"That's good. Don't forget your book!"

He's already sliding out of the car. "Keep it. Maybe even read it. I don't think I'll have much use for it where I'm headed."

"You might not go to Vietnam."

For once he's the cynical one. "Sure, Curtis. Whatever you say."

It doesn't seem right to leave things this way. We were friends, once.

"Paul!" He turns around again. I swallow hard. "Good luck."

He smiles. He slams the door.

I watch as he walks across the parking lot until gradually he fades out of sight.

* * *

It's Soda who wakes me up in the morning, opening the driver's side door so that I almost fall out of the truck and onto the asphalt of the parking lot. Unlike me, it looks like he hasn't slept at all.

"Doctor wants to talk to us," Soda says hoarsely. He scrubs at his face with his sleeve. "Ponyboy made it through the night okay."

"Of course he did. He's a tough kid." Ponyboy is being well taken care of. There's no doubt about that. I'm more concerned about Soda, pale and drawn. "Are you doin' okay?"

Soda smiles. "I'll manage."

"I'm not leaving tonight," I vow. "They can't kick me out. I'll… I'll call the _papers_ if I have to."

I grab _The Brothers Karamazov_ before I follow Soda into the hospital. It occurs to me that maybe Pony might like to hear it, too.

* * *

 **A/N: Ever since I started writing this story, I have fielded questions about the title. I hope this chapter shed some light on why I chose to call this story "Sticky Leaves"!** _ **The Brothers Karamazov**_ **is one of my favorite books, and two years ago as I read through it I was suddenly struck by the similarities between it and** _ **The Outsiders.**_ **(Of course, I'm not the ONLY one in this fandom who has had this idea, am I Lulu?) And, as I pondered the similarities, this story started to grow. :)**

 **As things stand right now, I have about three or four chapters left to post. I am hoping to be able to mark this story 'complete' by Labor Day. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with me as I took my time with this story, and a special thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review. I thought about quitting at least three times a week, so knowing people were still interested definitely kept me going.**

 **\- SmollyWobbles**


	35. Chapter 35

"Are you sure you don't want me to take you home?"

From the passenger seat, I try to look more alive… or at least slightly less on the verge of death. "Oh, no. I'm fine."

"Your face is a mess," Miriam says flatly.

"Oh, it isn't so bad." It's what the nurse said, and I have every reason to believe her. But to someone unaccustomed to seeing the worst injuries night after night, I guess it does look pretty awful. "And my parents would just make it worse."

They would, too. They're bound to have questions, and I'm not so sure I want to provide answers.

"Well, if you're sure."

"I am." I bite my lip, the side that isn't split, and try to swallow what's left of my pride. "Thank you for coming to pick me up. I appreciate it."

"Oh, it's no problem. I figured things must be pretty bad if you called _me_ to come pick you up." Her eyes slide to my face, then back to the road. "So, uh, what happened tonight?"

"I fell down."

"No, you didn't. Stairs don't leave finger shaped bruises."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Your delivery was pretty good, though," she assures me. "I _almost_ believed you. It wasn't Paul, was it? I saw him and Darrel there-"

"Together?"

She nods. "Was it one of them?"

Funny how she picked Paul as a culprit over Darry. "No, it wasn't either of them. It was a guy we knew in high school."

"Does it have anything to do with your car?"

"I think it might."

"I'll never understand things here. Never."

"Are they that different in-"

"Texas," she supplies, explaining for the first time that particular drawl in her voice. "Cooper Creek."

"Never heard of it."

She cracks a smile. "Most people haven't."

"I bet you don't even have enough angry teenage boys to _have_ a rumble."

"True," she agrees.

"You probably don't have any Jews, either."

She has to think about it. "Not really. My mom used to be, does that count?"

"Your _mother_ is Jewish?" My injuries are forgotten as I turn to look at her. "But I _asked_ you, the first time we met, if you were Jewish-"

"Well, I'm not."

"But if your mother is-"

"I go to the Baptist Church on Sunday just like everyone else." She sounds a bit defensive about this. "And for that matter, so does my mother."

"I guess that must make things easier." I don't know if I'm jealous or not, coming as I do from a family too stubborn to convert but not devoted enough to find our way to the synagogue on anything but the occasional High Holy Day. At the very least, I bet Miriam has never had to worry about having her car vandalized.

"Oh, it does." Miriam's voice is smug.

"There are still people who are different, though, even if you all look the same and go to the same church. There are always going to be people who don't fit in, even in Cooper Creek, Texas. And I bet things aren't so great for them."

She thinks about it. "Well, they don't get fists to the face, that's for sure."

I think about the invisible lines I've lived with all my life, the open discrimination, and the more insidious kind. I'm not so sure that I don't prefer a fist to the face instead: at least I'm in no doubt now of where I stand.

But then, this is my first fist to the face. I can see how it might get old after a while. So maybe Cooper Creek is onto something.

"Do you really think it's obvious that I didn't fall down the stairs?" I change the subject, worry winning out over curiosity about Miriam's Jewish background. "My parents are going to _kill_ me."

Miriam hesitates. "It's… pretty obvious. Can't you just tell them the truth?"

"Absolutely not."

"You want me to crash my car into a light pole or something?" I hesitate, not sure if she's being serious or not. "The fact that you're even considering this says a lot about your relationship with your parents."

"The fact that I moved in with _you_ should have said it all."

Miriam laughs. "I guess that's true."

I can just make out my reflection in the passenger side window. Even in that watery image, I can see the bruises Cal left.

"Maybe you should just try to avoid them for a few days," Miriam advises. "Or a few weeks."

"Maybe."

She leaves it at that, but unlike Miriam my parents aren't one state over. Sooner or later I'm going to have to explain things to them, and I have a feeling it's going to be much sooner than I'd like.

* * *

 _Just look_ , I tell myself the next morning. _It won't be that bad. The nurse said it wasn't that bad. What does Miriam know, anyway? Just look._

Ever so slowly I open one eye, and then the other. It takes my eyes a second to adjust to the brightness of my bedroom, the sunlight pouring in through my sheer lace curtains, but adjust they do. And I find myself staring at my reflection in the mirror.

 _Is that really me_? I wonder. I run a hand very carefully over the cuts and bruises. So does the mess of a girl in my dresser. I blink. I guess it's me after all. _How disappointing_.

A strangely shaped bruise lying across my cheekbone attracts my attention and I caress it gently. Only when I'm holding my hand up do I realize what has given it its odd shape. The outline of four out of five of Cal's fingers are clearly visible.

So that's what Miriam meant when she said it was obvious that I just didn't fall down the stairs. _Good grief._

"At least nothing's broken," I mutter to myself, wrinkling my nose just to double check. "Cal half-asses _everything_."

Still, I can't lie to myself any better than I can lie to my parents: my face looks _bad._

I tear my eyes away from my face. I need to distract myself. I need… I need _breakfast,_ I decide. Everything looks better with a full stomach. I turn smartly on my heel and head for the living space I share with Miriam.

Much to my relief, Miriam is gone by the time I poke my head out of my bedroom. "Miriam?" I call, just to make sure, but there's no answer. She must have just left, because I can still smell traces of her perfume. I sniff the air. The smell is familiar to me, and not just because I've lived with Miriam for a few months now. I close my eyes, and that's when it comes to me: Paul's shirts. He used to smell of sweat, freshly mowed grass, and that perfume.

My eyes pop back open. That's enough of that.

"Who joins the Army when there's a war on?" I mutter to myself. "Idiot."

I go on muttering to myself about Paul's stupidity for a few more minutes as I steal a couple of pieces of Miriam's bread. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," I grouse, stealing some butter now, too, and slapping it angrily on the now toasted slices of bread.

"I shouldn't have slapped him," I finally say after a bite, remorse and butter suddenly filling me. "He did help me. I shouldn't have hit him."

And God, the look on his face when I did slap him… surprise and disbelief. Regret makes way for shame, and my heart gives a sudden skip. Maybe I should go over to his house, make it up to him. I might not see him again, after all, not if he goes off to Vietnam. I mean, my God, even Darry looked at me like I'd lost my damn mind after I slapped Paul-

Everything comes screeching to a halt as I probe my latest memory. Darry? Was Darry there last night?

"Oh, _no_."

And just like that, it's all forgotten. The toast, Paul, the bruises on my face… all of it is completely forgotten.

If Darry was at the hospital last night, then I know something has gone very, very wrong.

* * *

The one good thing about my face being so busted up, I decide, is that no one wants to sit next to me on the bus. I force myself to be cheerful about that, spreading my legs in a very unladylike manner to celebrate the novelty of having all this leg room, but in reality it's mortifying. And not just because people think I've been up to no good- I've always been, well… I've always been _pretty_. People have always told me so. Boys have always flirted with me, and even grown women have always taken my thinness and prettiness as a compliment to themselves and smiled at me because of it. People still turn to look at me, but not for the same reasons they did yesterday.

I don't know what to do now that I don't have the security blanket of my beauty anymore. As much as I've deplored the unwanted attention, I've also come to rely on the doors it opens for me.

I want nothing more than to cover my face, but I'm also too proud to do so. So I just sit there, hand folded, legs spread wide, and wait until the bus arrives at the hospital. And once it does, I don't let myself run down the aisle. I walk, sedately.

I have my own apartment. Paul is going to leave me alone, maybe even for good. Men aren't openly hitting on me anymore. Those are the things I wanted, aren't they? Shouldn't I be happier?

A sudden fear overtakes me: What if I'm never happy?

* * *

I hear Darry before I see him, his voice hoarse as he reads, "There is silent and long-suffering sorrow to be met with among the peasantry. It withdraws into itself and is still. But there is a grief that breaks out-"

Taking a deep breath, I round the corner into the hospital room. Darry stops reading at the first hint of intrusion, and his blue-green eyes widen at the sight of me. He jumps up, visibly upset.

"Hi!" Nervousness makes my voice much too chipper, an emotion greatly at odds with the antiseptic silence of Ponyboy's hospital room. I try again, saying in a more hushed tone, "I brought you coffee."

He doesn't reach for it. "Jesus Christ, your face-"

"It's not that bad!" Chipper again, dammit. "The nurse said it wasn't, and she would know. Nothing's broken!"

"I'm gonna _kill-_ "

"You're not going to do a single thing!" No longer chipper, my voice becomes sharp. "Now take your _damned_ coffee and sit back down."

To my surprise, he listens, sinking back into his chair like he's becoming one with it. Every single line of his body speaks to a weariness that goes deeper than a simple nap would cure. So maybe he's not just giving in to my demands, maybe now that he's made the appropriate outraged boyfriend response he's more than content to simply let it go again.

He drinks deeply from the coffee cup. "Paul tell you I was here?"

 _Paul. Always Paul._ "No. I haven't seen him. I remembered you were here last night all on my own, it just took me a bit, that's all."

He accepts that with a curt nod. "Johnny's dead," he says flatly. "So's Dally."

"Dally?" Johnny I half-expected, and so did Darry is he's honest with himself. But Dally… good God, I can't imagine someone so violently _alive_ could be gone in an instant. "How? He, the rumble? I mean-"

Darry shakes his head. "He held up a store. Cops shot him."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he growls. He emits a string of cuss words, some I've never heard before, before adding, "he called us, before he got shot. He told us to meet him. But he knew what was gonna happen. He had a gun. He wanted us to see. He wanted my _kid brothers_ to see." He gestures angrily towards Ponyboy, pale and unconscious in the bed. "It's his fault. All of it. The whole time he knew where they were and now-"

I take his hand as he breaks off, blinking furiously and fingers digging into the coffee cup so hard I'm afraid he'll break it. "I am _so_ sorry."

It's the only thing to say, I think. Now is probably not the time to explain that, for once, Dally's actions seem perfectly reasonable to me. Maybe he did want to die, but even as reckless and selfish as he was, he was only seventeen. Is it any surprise that, in the end, he wanted to die among friends?

I'm not heartless enough to say this to Darry. Not yet, anyway. Everyone grieves differently, and it doesn't surprise me that Darry goes right to anger. It's the root of him really, and fuels him in ways I'm not sure I ever want to understand.

"I thought you'd go back to Paul," Darry switches course from grief to jealousy in the space of a breath. "The way you looked at him last night-"

"Well, I didn't." Even though I know he's probably just trying to distract himself, I still can't help but be irritated. _I picked you_ , I want to say, but I'm feeling far too peevish to utter those words, so I leave them unsaid. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No." He sounds close to tears, but when I look at him, his eyes are perfectly dry. "No. Stay."

* * *

"Heeey, Diana." Soda, sitting up from his makeshift bed of two chairs pushed together, gives me his trademark charming grin. "What happened to your face?"

"I fell off a ladder."

Soda glances at his oldest brother, maybe just to make sure my obvious lie is in fact a lie, before looking back at me. "Alright. I guess I'll pretend to believe you."

I shrug. "It's the best lie I've got."

Darry is still clinging to my hand, but he chooses now to speak up. "She got beat up, Soda. Just leave it alone."

Soda shrugs. He doesn't care that much, seeing me only as an extension of his big brother, and if Darry doesn't seem bothered by it Soda won't let it bother him, either. He's far more concerned with his little brother, still lying unconscious in the hospital bed. Soda has eyes only for Ponyboy, sliding into bed beside him and brushing the hair off his forehead with gentle fingers.

"Hey, Pone," he says softly. "When ya gonna wake up, kid?"

I look at Soda, with all that tenderness and love existing between him and his little brother, and all I can think is _poor Darry._

* * *

It's the setting of the sun that finally stirs me into something like action. I pick my drooping head up off of Darry's shoulder and whisper, "I should go home." _Home_ home. I guess it's time to face my fears.

Darry glances over at me, and I think it's the first time in a couple of hours he has taken his eyes off his youngest brother. "You need a ride?"

I hesitate. I can sense his reluctance to leave, and if it were my kid brother lying there I probably wouldn't want to either, but the plain truth is that I do need a ride home.

I can't face the bus again. I just can't.

He doesn't make me ask him, he just gets up and grabs his keys, uttering a quick "I'll be back" to Soda before grabbing my hand and almost sprinting out of the room. The farther away he gets from his brothers, the lighter he starts to look.

It _was_ oppressive, being in that hospital room. I feel a little lighter myself, leaving it.

Until, that is, I _don't._

"What am I going to tell my parents?" I dither, hands skimming over my face.

"The truth?" Darry suggests. He sticks his keys into the ignition, and his old truck springs to life with a comforting rumble.

"Really. And when Cal mentions Paul-"

"It's always about Paul, isn't it?"

"Knock it off. I don't need your jealousy right now-"

"I ain't jealous," he retorts. "I talked to him last night-"

"Talked?"

"Yeah, talked." He starts to smile before thinking better of it. "Don't tell me you don't know all about _that_."

"I'm just surprised, that's all. What'd you talk about?"

"You. School. Vietnam."

I wait for more, but nothing else comes. "And?"

"And what?" He glances over at me, more than a little amused. "What else did you think would happen?"

I thought maybe you'd be best friends again, I want to say, but the idea seems as fantastical as UFOs and little green men, so I keep that to myself. "I don't know. I just thought maybe you'd both feel better if you talked."

"Too much has happened for us to be friends again." It's a harsh truth, but Darry says it as gently as he can manage. "We've got other friends now."

He says it without thinking, and almost immediately he falls silent thinking, no doubt, that as of tonight he's got two less of them. I reach for his hand.

"It's about you, too." I match him gentleness for gentleness. "The rumble, you know. Ponyboy. What if Cal talks about it?"

Darry glances over, surprised. I'm so used to him being the smart one that it comes as a shock to realize he hadn't considered what it could mean for his custody battle if Cal blabbed about the rumble.

"You shouldn't have to think about that."

"Too late."

"Diana-"

"Look, Darry, you know as well as I do that I could go into the police station and tell the cops everything and nothing would happen to Cal. Nothing ever happens to people like him. Heck, they'd probably ask me what I did to provoke him. So at least let me pretend I'm not reporting it for noble reasons, because the truth is a _little_ too depressing to face right now."

He doesn't say anything in response. He doesn't say anything at all, actually, not until we pull into my parents' driveway and he clears his throat. "Diana…"

I'm getting out of the truck, I've already got the door open and one foot out, but even so I turn to him. I'm vain enough to wish that I wasn't so beat up right now- he hasn't treated me any different by there's no denying that I'm worlds away from the hot cheerleader he spent so many years covering.

 _Maybe he wishes he could pawn me back off on Paul_ …

He drums his fingers against the steering wheel, nervousness making the muscle in his jaw jump. "Diana," he repeats. "Last night… Paul said… he said you were going to Chicago."

I blink at him. That feels like a lifetime ago. And it's still tempting, to run away to a city where I haven't made a complete mess of things. But that's exactly what it'd be, running away. And if spending all day staring at Ponyboy in his hospital bed has driven home one idea, it's that running away never turns out how you think it will.

I straighten in my seat, bruises and all. "I'm not going _anywhere_."

His relief is almost _palpable_. "Thank God. I know I should tell you to go, and Hell, you should, but I spent all mornin' thinking about it, and Diana… I can't do it. I can't lose another person. Not you. Not you, too."

His hand curls up into a fist, and he smashes it into the steering wheel. "I can't do this anymore, this being alone. I can't _do_ it! You'll come back tomorrow?"

He means to the hospital, and truth be told I'd rather be anywhere else. Even so, I nod all the same. "I'll be there."

* * *

My parents are watching some program on the television when I come home, I can see the glow from outside the house. There'll be no hiding in there, and I steel myself against what I know is coming.

My parents are laughing when I open the door, but they stop as soon as I come inside. My dad turns off the television.

"Diana, there you are. Did you forget where you lived?"

My mom laughs. "Did you forget how to use a telephone?"

I busy myself with locking the door, hiding my face, and force myself to give a hearty laugh. "Well, you know how Lucy and I are when we get together."

"Funny, that looked like Darrel who brought you home."

"Lucy keeps throwing up. She's having a lot of trouble driving right now. And Teddy's picking up extra shifts right now, money, you know…" I fiddle with the lock. _Oh, God,_ I plead silently. _Just turn around and let me get to my room._

I thought it would be better just to get this over with, but maybe I should have just disappeared for two weeks. Maybe Miriam could have hidden me somewhere in Cooper Creek, Texas. I could have gone to the Baptist Church with her Jewish Mama and tried on conformity for size.

"Diana, look at me."

I don't want to turn around.

"Diana?" It's my mother this time, soft and quizzical, and I don't have to turn around to know she's probably looking at my father with wide, fearful eyes.

Slowly, I turn. My mother shrieks, actually _shrieks_. It's a bit dramatic, if you ask me, and so I end up looking at my more rational father.

I lean against the door, crossing my arms. "It's not a big deal."

A snort of disbelief comes out of my father. "It _is_ a big deal, Diana. It's a _very_ big deal."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Too bad." My father fixes me with a dark stare, and I suddenly feel less like his daughter and more like a key witness under cross examination. "You're going to tell us what happened."

I don't say anything, silently invoking the fifth amendment.

"Was it that boy?" My mother is near tears. "Oh, Diana-"

I break my silence long enough to answer her. "It wasn't Darry, no."

"Paul Holden?" That from my dad, who really ought to know better.

"Don't be ridiculous."

His nostrils flare. "Diana, you'd better start talking. Who did this to you?"

Still I say nothing.

My father gets to his feet. "So help me, I will march you down to the police station right now, Diana. If you won't talk to me, maybe you'll talk to one of them."

"Oh, yes, they were _so helpful_ when it came to investigating my car, weren't they?"

"Diana Joy-"

"Diana," my mother breaks in, getting to her feet to put an arm around me. "Please, talk to us. We're your parents, we'll believe whatever you tell us-"

"I fell down the stairs."

She frowns- I guess she didn't really mean she'd believe anything I told her.

"That's enough." My father points a stern finger at me. "You're going to start talking right now."

"Or what?"

I have never spoken to my parents like this before, never once called their bluff. My father blinks at me, momentarily at a loss for words. As for me, I'm somewhere between laughter and crying.

"You know what? You know what?" My voice rises as hysteria bubbles over. "I don't have to stay here, do I?"

"Sweetheart," my mother starts, but I pull away from her.

"I've got a job! I've got a place to go! I don't have to stay here!"

My mother tries again. "Diana, _darling-_ "

But it's too late. I fumble with the lock for half a second before swinging open the door, and then I step back into the night, leaving my parents standing in the living room, with nothing but empty threats and empty promises between them.


	36. Chapter 36

A/N: I know my updates have been sporadic at best, but I keep telling myself that I've come too far to give up now. I appreciate anyone who is still reading this story! Thank you!

* * *

 _I will not get mad, I will not lose my temper, I will_ … I grit my teeth as my little brother just keeps giving me those same damn blank eyes he's been giving me since he came home from the hospital. _I am grateful he's alive, I will not get mad. I will not lose my temper_.

"Ponyboy." My voice is steady. Even. Good. "Ponyboy, where are your shoes?"

Ponyboy looks down, startled. _There's no way he walked home like that and didn't notice,_ I think, but damn if he doesn't prove me wrong.

"I guess I must have left them at school." And then, like it takes him a second to think about it, he adds a feeble sounding, "sorry."

"Really, kiddo? Your shoes? You left your shoes at school?"

Anger flares in his eyes. At least it's something, I guess, better than the nothing that's been there ever since he woke up. "Yeah, I guess I must have. What's the problem? I said I was sorry! I'll get 'em tomorrow."

 _I will not get mad_ … oh, to hell with it. "Ponyboy, the problem is that I just bought those shoes! What if they're gone? D'you think we can afford to just up and buy you a new pair of shoes because you can't be bothered to bring home the ones you already got?"

More of that blank, clueless stare. And then… then he shrugs. And that's when I lose it.

"God DAMMIT, Ponyboy! This isn't a game! You think just 'cause the judge granted me custody ONCE that I don't still have to fight for it? D'you think some social worker'll be amused if I can't get you a new pair of shoes? What the HELL is goin' on inside your head, huh? Just 'cause Johnny died-"

Ponyboy's green eyes widen. "He's not dead!"

"Yes, he IS. Him, and Dally, and Mom and Dad. We're the ones who're still here, so you better pull it together Ponyboy, because I am so sick of this bullshit! Grow UP!"

And what does Ponyboy say to all this? Nothing. Not a goddamn thing. He just stand there and fucking _blinks_ at me.

"Go to your room. Just… go to your room." I don't know what to spends all night in his room anyway, so it's not like I'm punishing him, but I'm at the end of my rope.

"Darry?"

I turn around. There, poking her head out of the kitchen, is Diana. She's got this worried little look on her face and she licks her lips nervously. I'm guessing she just got an earful.

"Heeey. So I guess you heard all that?"

"I heard enough." I cringe. "I was just about to get started with supper. Do you have any preferences tonight?"

I shake my head. "You ain't gotta cook for us, Diana."

She doesn't listen. She turns and heads back into the kitchen.

Swearing under my breath, I follow her into the kitchen. "He left his _shoes_ at school-"

"Speaking of shoes, you ought to take _your_ shoes off." She wrinkles her nose, looking down at my worn steel toes. "You'll scuff the floors or something."

 _Like another scuff mark would matter_ , I think to myself. But I do as she asks; her sensibilities are much nicer than mine, and I'm sure my mom would tell me the same thing. "I'm scared for him, Diana."

"Well, by all means, keep yelling at him. That seems to be working _so_ well."

I sit in a kitchen chair, working my boot off. "I don't _mean_ to yell-"

"And your brother doesn't _mean_ to leave his shoes at school. Do you have a spatula around here?"

"Third drawer from the right," I intone. I'm too upset to even admire the perfect curve of her ass as she wiggles around my kitchen wearing nothing but my shirt. And _that_ is a fucking travesty I'll never forgive my brother for. "I just don't know how else to get through to him, Diana. I try to go easy on him, but he just _looks_ at me."

Diana looks back at me, softening just a bit. "I know you try, Darry. I've never said you don't."

"I'm _scared_."

"I know you are."

"He still thinks Johnny's alive, that he's the one who stabbed the Soc in the park. The doctor said he'd snap out of it eventually, I just had to be patient, but it's been a month, Diana. How much longer do I gotta wait?"

I hear her take a deep breath, and then she stops what she's doing to come sit down beside me at the table. "Maybe he ought to talk to someone. A professional."

"No."

"Darry-"

"He's _confused_ , not crazy. He doesn't need some podunk version of Sigmund Freud poking around his head. They'll want to medicate him or… or _worse_." The specter of Mrs. Holden hovers just out of sight. My brother isn't going to some nuthouse. He just isn't.

Diana takes my hand. The bruises on her face have faded to a sort of yellowish shadow, but you can still tell she got her ass beat, and recent, too. My stomach does a little flip; there's nothing I can do about that either.

I'm so helpless now. And I can't fucking stand it.

"Maybe you should go get his shoes," Diana says. "At least get out of the house. Some fresh air might do you good."

I just came from a twelve hour shift in the fresh air, but I guess I know what she means. There's also the possibility that I can still find his shoes, and the sooner I get my ass up to the high school, the better.

I give Diana's hand a squeeze, grateful for her near constant presence. I need her. Maybe more than I'm willing to admit.

 _No_ , I think, gazing appreciatively at her backside as she gets up again to start supper, _I wouldn't mind at all._

* * *

I'm heading out the door when Two-Bit pops his head in. "Leaving?" he asks, seeing me lacing my shoes back up. "Want some company?"

I shrug. Truth be told, the last thing I want is company, but I can't quite find the heart to tell him this. Everyone's been so out of it these last few weeks, and even the usually wisecracking Two-Bit. It's like a pall has settled over our town… but no, that's too damn poetic for me, so I hop off that train of thought quick as shit, leaving it for the dreamier ones like Ponyboy and Diana.

"You might as well," I say, being about as welcoming as I can muster. "I'm in a bad mood, though, I'll warn you. Pony left his-"

"Shoes at school. The whole damn neighborhood heard you yellin' your head off at him just now." Two-Bit hooks his thumbs through his belt loops and won't _quite_ meet my eyes. "That's what I want to talk about, I guess."

My face burns and my anger flares again. "I'm not gonna take advice from _you_ on raising my kid brothers, so if you got somethin' to say."

"Oh, go to hell," he says, but it's in a friendly way. "Just quit your bitchin' and get in the truck, would ya? I got shit to say and I don't wanna do it here."

But when we get to the truck, and we're rolling our way down to Will Rogers High School, Two-Bit takes forever to get to the point. "Saw your girl down at Rusty's a couple of nights ago. She bar tendin' or somethin'?"

"Yeah, but you said you wanted to talk about Ponyboy-"

"How d'you feel about that?"

"Diana?" He nods. "I dunno. She seems happy enough down there. I wish she didn't have to work, but she knows the score. I can't afford a housewife."

That last acknowledgement burned my pride a bit, but maybe not as much as it would have done a few months ago: She'd been fired from her fancy law office job, supposedly for not being there, though I was willing to bet it had a lot to do with her boss not being attracted to cuts and bruises. But she'd gone down to Rusty's and gotten a job, and to my absolute astonishment _loved_ it.

I guess I should have figured: If there was one thing Diana loved, it was talking.

"So she's moved in? You gettin' hitched?"

I sense disapproval, and it reminds me so much of Dally that I can't stand it. "Lemme guess, you think she's just after me for my money?"

"No-"

"Well, I sure as shit don't need any sex talks. Not from you."

Two-Bit throws up his hands. "Jesus _Christ_ , calm down Darry! This is why no one wants to talk to you! I just wanted to know if ya'll wanted to double with me and Kathy next weekend! That's _it_. I don't care if you marry her or not!"

I feel about two inches tall. "Oh." He just gives me an aggrieved look, comically distorted in the shadows of the street lamps we pass. "Um, I'm sure Diana would like that. She could use more friends, I guess."

She did, too. Lucy had told her to take a hike, and Christ I'd never wanted to hit a girl so bad in my life.

"Great," Two-Bit drawls. "We can set up a playdate."

"That's not what I meant-"

"Aw, hell, there you go again!"

I'm somewhere between laughter and tears. "Will you just tell me what you wanted to tell me, please? Before I hafta knock some sense into you?"

"Or knock whatever sense I have left clear out of me," he suggests. He sounds more cheerful than he has in a long time, and I wonder if maybe he feels the same guilt I do for moving on.

Our friend was gunned down right in front of us. How can we be happy after that?

And maybe Two-Bit feels the same way, because the smile drops from his face. "I'm worried about Ponyboy."

My hands grip the wheel. "The doctor says he just needs time."

"Yeah, well, I ain't so sure about that." And then he relates a story about Ponyboy busting up a glass bottle to scare off some Socs who apparently have not gotten over the death of their Lord and God. When he finishes, he sounds a little uncertain, "I've never seen him that way, Darry. He was cold, like Dally was."

"He's nothing like Dally was. If anything, sounds like he's just finally gettin' smart."

"Yeah, smart."

"Would you rather he got his ass beat by those Socs?"

"Steve and I were right inside-"

"Sounds like he took care of it."

"Yeah."

Two-Bit still sounds unhappy about it, so I ask him, "would you rather he have gotten hurt? They tried to kill him last time, you think they're gonna let him off with just a beating now?"

"It's not like him."

"Well what did you expect?" I burst out. The story bothers me more than I want to admit, but it's what I wanted, isn't it? Isn't it? "His parents are dead, his best friend is dead, Dally was _murdered_ right in front of him… did you really expect he'd come out of all that unchanged, huh? Did you?"

Two-Bit cocks his head to the side, eyes narrowing. "Did _you_?"

* * *

Diana's already asleep when I get home, and it's all I can do not to shake her awake. Luckily, after I drop my heavy boots on the floor, turn the lights on, and slam a few dresser drawers she stirs and sits up. "Darry? What time is it?"

"Dunno. Oh, hey, I got Pony's shoes!"

She rubs her eyes as I drop down beside her on the bed. "Good. I tried to hold supper for you, but you didn't come home, and then- Darry, are you _drunk_?" She sniffs the air and looks at me, like she wants me to deny what her own senses are telling her.

"'Course not." Her eyebrows raise. "I'm not. I had a couple beers, and maybe a shot or two, but it's fine. Besides, nothin' coulda happened. I had Two-Bit with me."

She mutters something about foxes and henhouses before laying back down and rolling over, her back turned towards me. I run my fingers down her spine, making her shiver.

'Come on, I want to talk. Isn't that the kind of thing you live for? Talking?"

She rolls back over and makes a face. "I wish you didn't have to be drunk to do it."

"I _told_ you, I ain't- I mean, I'm _not_ drunk. I just had a couple drinks. Listen! Listen, listen, listen-"

"I'm listening!" She sits back up, arms crossed under her chest. _Make this good_ , her eyes say.

And I do. I tell her Two-Bit's story as best I can, relaying to her everything I know. As I talk, she scoots closer.

In the end, she doesn't understand. "So, he defended himself? And Two-Bit's… worried?"

"You don't know Ponyboy. He's not like us. Them. _Us_. Six months ago he never would've done that."

"So he's changed? That's, well…" Diana trails off, stroking my arm. "Darry, that's to be expected."

"Yeah. I know. That's what I told Two-Bit. And then he said… he said…"

"What?"

"Well, he didn't say anything, I guess. But he made me feel like an _asshole_. I am, aren't I? Always yelling, always… it's me, isn't it? _I'm_ the problem."

"You're scared for him," she soothes. "You're tired, you're worried. You can do better. You _will_ do better."

She runs her fingers through my hair, and I let myself get carried away by her softness and pity. She's right, I figure. I'm just worried about him. I can change it. I can change it all.

"It was weird, you know, bein' back at school." I don't know what makes me say that. "Sometimes I think I'd give anything to go back, but then I wouldn't have you, would I?"

She just looks at me, blinking those big, dark eyes and I'm disappointed; I thought it was kind of romantic.

Slightly deflated, I climb into bed. "He picked up the glass."

"Who?"

"Ponyboy. After he cracked the bottle. He picked up the glass. So that nobody would get cut." My head is spinning. Maybe I had a few more drinks than I let on. Or maybe it's just relief. "I think things are gonna be okay, Diana. I think they might be."

I want to believe that more than anything.

* * *

 _Things are gonna be okay, yeah right. Do they look okay? Do they fucking look okay?_

I'm looking down at my brother's progress report, the one he somehow forgot to give me yesterday. We're gathered together to have a nice family breakfast, but that's looking like a pipe dream right about now. Nice and family are two words that maybe don't apply to us anymore.

"How are you failing English, Ponyboy? I thought you loved English."

Ponyboy pushes a chunk of cold pancake around his plate and says nothing.

"And you're failing Math, Biology, American History, and _art_? How do you even fail art? Just scribble a tree or something and call it done!" Diana, attempting to clean a cast iron skillet older than we are, turns around to glare, but I stand by my statement. "This is ridiculous."

"You never minded all that much when Soda failed his classes!" Ponyboy sits up. If he's listless most of the time, he makes up for it with the most ridiculous displays of anger at the most inopportune moments. "You didn't even care when he dropped out!"

Soda puts his glass of chocolate milk down with a thud. "Really, Pone? You don't remember the earful I got?"

"This is between you and me!" I drain the dregs of my black coffee, wishing to God I hadn't gone drinking last night. My head hurts something awful, and this is just making it worse. "Don't drag Soda into it."

Diana sets down the bottle of aspirin in front of me, hands still a little soapy. "Maybe you should just let it go," she says in my ear. Wise council, but I don't take it.

I do, however, take a deep breath. _I am patient. I am calm_. "Right. Well, this ends now, Pony. You hear me? I'm gonna talk to your teachers. Maybe they can give you some extra credit so you can at least pass the year."

"Does it matter? You think somehow we're gettin' outta here? How'd doin' so well in school go for you? You got real far, didn't you?"

It's like I've been slapped. Back at the sink, Diana drops the skillet. It's Soda who saves the day, sitting up suddenly and pulling Ponyboy right along with him. "Hey, kiddo, let's just get ready for school, okay? And make sure you keep your shoes on today, alright? You got-" He keeps a steady stream of chatter up as he whisks Ponyboy away.

Maybe it's because he knows how much what Ponyboy just said stings, but the more cynical side of me thinks that he just doesn't want me to start wailing on the kid again.

I wouldn't.

I swear I wouldn't.

"Hey." Diana's touch is gentle on my shoulder. "I'm sure he didn't mean that."

"Of course he did." I laugh, even though nothing's really funny. "He always means exactly what he says. And you know what? He's right. Jesus, look at me. Look at _you_. What're you doin' here?"

"Dishes, at the moment. Later on I figure I'll start the laundry-"

"You ought to go back to school. You ought to go to Chicago."

"I can't go back till the semester starts again," she points out. "And I already told you how I feel about Chicago."

I press my hands against my eyes until I see stars. I don't know what I'd do without Diana here, something I've told her countless times since she broke down in tears with no place to go. I thought maybe it was the emotional breakthrough she was looking for. But suddenly it feels wrong, like I've trapped her.

 _Leave,_ I want to tell her. But I'm not that brave.

Diana slides into the chair recently vacated by Soda. I don't know what she's thinking, but she looks exhausted. For a second I don't see my girlfriend, I see my mother. Faded, worn out, trapped with no place to go. Maybe if I had a mirror I'd see my father's face instead of my own; restless, hungover, full of empty promises.

I stand up so abruptly the chair almost falls backwards. Diana jumps.

"Darry? Are you okay? What're you doing?" Her eyes widen, and suddenly she's nineteen again and beautiful and all mine. But for how long? How long until we're them? Did I really think I could move her in with me, play house, and have everything work out?

"I'm going to finish up the dishes," I tell her, steadily as I can. "And then I guess I'll go on to work."

"But are you okay?" She presses. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine," I insist.

It's a lie. My dad was full of them too.


End file.
